


Exploited, Invisible

by Mgeeks



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Multi, Sort of anyway, Will add more tags as I go, most of them are in school but it's not important, they're trying to change the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mgeeks/pseuds/Mgeeks
Summary: Jack Kelly lives in a world where people are exploited just for being special. One where he has to hide who he is. One where his friends are in constant danger of their secrets being exposed. Jack Kelly lives in a world that is about to change. It just doesn’t know it yet.Newsies superpower AU. Think Incredibles, if people with superpowers were mistreated, pushed down, and taken advantage of for literal centuries. And their workers rebellion just got a little behind the times. Enter Katherine and the newsies, and all of that is about to change.





	1. An Ordinary Morning

Crutchie leaned against the counter as the tea kettle slowly heated up. Crutchie loved mornings, he did, there was nothing like watching the sun rise over the buildings as the city woke up, but if he was going to keep this up, he’d have to stop pulling late nights. He snorted under his breath as the kettle _finally_ let out a whistle and he could pour himself a mug. As if that was going to happen.

He tilted his head in interest as he added a tea bag to the water, dunking it in a futile attempt to make it steep faster, the water slowly turning dark. His shoulders sagged a little as he realized what he was picking up on. Oh, poor Jack. He hadn’t felt that much panic from his brother in a while. Not since the first time Race got high and became convinced his “luck” meant if he jumped off a roof, he’d be able to fly. They’d tried to tell him that that wasn’t how drugs or powers worked, but he was insistent. The fact that Finch was floating just below the ceiling, bobbing up and down and giggling at the ceiling lamp hadn’t helped. That hadn’t been a fun night for anyone involved. Well, except Finch really.

It must have been a bad one, then.

But…no. Not too bad, Crutchie thought as the telltale sounds of stirring came from the direction of Jack’s room. Crutchie flicked on the coffee maker, filled up last night, and left a mug on the counter before carefully making his way from the kitchen to the chairs by the windows. He’d had plenty of practice walking with a drink in his hand while using his crutch, but every now and again something happened, and he’d spill the whole thing. His morning tea was too precious to risk that with.

The sun had made its way above the furthest rooftops and Crutchie was halfway through his tea when Jack settled into the other chair to his left, coffee mug clutched in his hand.

“Thanks, Crutch,” he said, voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Don’t mention it,” Crutchie replied, not turning away from the window. He knew Jack well enough by now to know he didn’t want to talk about it. Living together for nearly fifteen years would do that. Crutchie counted it as a win that Jack came out to sit with him at all. Back when they’d been younger, before they knew each other, before they knew they could trust each other, and _why_ they could trust each other, it wasn’t like this. Jack used to climb out onto the fire escape outside his room and stare at the city, pretending he wasn’t crying.

He might not have come to Crutchie back then, but Crutchie hadn’t yet learned to block other people’s emotions out and couldn’t help knowing what was going on with his brothers’, especially when they went wild. He was still tuned into the emotions of the people he cared about, but now it was on purpose.

They drank their respective drinks in silence as the sun continued to rise, painting the city gold in the brief moments when it was neither really night or day. Crutchie’s favorite time. He wasn’t surprised when Jack leaned back in his chair after only one cup of coffee. His nightmares were always worse when he hadn’t gone out the night before, wearing himself out with patrols and fights and adrenaline. It worried Crutchie, it always did. But then, he was always at least a little worried about his brother. Both of them, actually, though for very different reasons.

It wasn’t surprising that Crutchie was the most emotionally mature of the three of them, but it really was frustrating for him. Medda always said they would catch up as they got older, that Crutchie was just a little ahead, but Crutchie thought she had wildly underestimated how stubborn Jack and Spot could be.

“I should paint that, someday.” Jack surprised Crutchie out of his reflections, gesturing widely at the city before them, waking up for the new day.

“Yeah, you should,” Crutchie agreed, “give yourself a break from all those mountains.”

“Hey!” Jack cried indignantly, lowering his voice at Crutchie’s reprimanding look. Romeo was still asleep. “I happen to like those mountains, ya know.”

“Yeah, you sure made enough backdrops with ‘em. I think half’a New York knows.”

“Ah shaddup,” Jack groused, but there was a smile on his face, and it was small but not fake, so Crutchie counted it as a win.

They sat in silence for a bit longer, the noises of the city finally starting to pick up. Crutchie tossed back the rest of his tea, before pushing out of his chair. “Come on, gotta get a move on.”

Jack groaned, sprawling out in his chair dramatically to follow Crutchie’s progress back to the kitchen. “Do we gotta though?”

Crutchie shook his head. “Go wake up Romeo, Jack. Quiet time’s over.”

“Why can’t you ever wake up Romeo, huh?”

Crutchie shook his head, examining what they had in the fridge. “He’s _your_ roommate. Sides, I make breakfast.” Toast and bacon, it was, then. They’d need to get some actual fruit and vegetables soon.

“I could make breakfast,” Jack grumbled, but he got up and walked back to his and Romeo’s room anyway, still clutching his coffee mug. Crutchie bet he’d forgotten it was empty.

“When we want to eat burned pancakes, you can make breakfast and I’ll wake Romeo up.” Crutchie called from the kitchen, knowing Jack heard him by the spike of annoyance that followed his words. Romeo was still unconscious.

“It was one time!” Jack yelled back from the other side of the apartment.

Well. He wasn’t unconscious anymore.

Crutchie laughed under his breath, heating up the skillet for the bacon as his roommates grumbled at each other in the background. Pretty soon, Romeo and Jack would be arguing over the shower, an argument Jack would win, because Romeo hated using his powers on his friends. Romeo would stumble blindly into the kitchen for coffee, his hair still a mess without any styling gel. Crutchie would put him to work making the toast and make sure he got bacon before Jack in return for his help. Jack would complain, but only a little, and they would ultimately leave the apartment five to ten minutes later than they had actually meant to.

Just an ordinary morning.

****

Katherine turned to look where the young protester was pointing and nodded in thanks to the woman when she spotted the two apparent leaders of the protest. If she wanted to write this article right, she would need to talk to them. The volunteer she had been talking to didn’t waste another moment, going back to attempting to collect signatures from the arriving student body of the college where the protests had set up shop today.

The crowd was still small, it was very early, after all. It was steadily growing, though, as students made their way into the campus for their morning classes and got caught up in conversation by one of the many people wandering around with clipboards asking for signatures and support. Katherine made her way through the crowd to where the heads of the protests were directing volunteers, twin heads of dark hair all she could really see through the crowd.

“Are you the Jacobs siblings?” She asked when she was a few feet away from the pair, causing both heads to spin to face her, revealing two cautiously open faces.

The boy cleared his throat awkwardly, “Yes. Yes, that would be us. I’m David, this is my sister Sarah. How can we help you?” Despite his initial surprise, David regained his composure quickly, extending his hand to shake hers, which she reciprocated briskly.

“You can tell me about what you’re doing here. I’d like to interview you both for an article I’m writing about the protests.” David’s face tensed, though he didn’t immediately refuse. She counted that as a win.

His sister, on the other hand, had closed off completely and was still staring at Katherine through narrowed eyes, sizing her up.

“Why do you want to do that, Ms….?” Sarah let her sentence trail off, raising an eyebrow at Katherine, and pointedly not offering her hand to shake. David seemed content to let her take the lead.

“P-plumber. I’m Katherine Plumber, I work for the _New York Sun_.” Katherine tried not to wince at how her voice stuttered over the pseudonym. Going by the increased height of Sarah Jacobs’ left eyebrow, she’d noticed. She’d taken Darcy’s advice about the value of distancing herself as a reporter from her father, but sometimes she wondered if it was worth it. She had never quite gotten used to using the penname.

“And what does the _Sun_ want you to write about the protests?” Sarah asked, looking at Katherine with distrust, but under that, Katherine thought she could see just the slightest hint of curiosity. Or maybe she just hoped she did.

“They don’t. No one told me to write anything.” Now _that_ got a reaction. Both Jacobs siblings stood up straighter. Sarah turned to her brother, tilting her head in question. His mouth twisted thoughtfully, and he tilted his head from side to side. Sarah nodded, agreeing. Katherine tried not to look like she was waiting with bated breath when the siblings turned back to her, identical determined looks on their faces. They didn’t know it, but their answer could make or break her career.

“David, can you take over with the volunteers? I think Ms. Plumber and I have a lot to talk about.” Sarah finally said, looking Katherine over once more, her gaze decidedly less cold this time. Katherine hoped whatever the other woman was looking for, Katherine measured up.

David nodded, shooting a quick, amused look at his sister before making a beeline for a group of people surrounding a young man holding a clipboard and looking overwhelmed. Katherine looked around her, surprised to see so many people now milling about in front of the college. How had she not noticed how large the crowd had grown?

Katherine startled at a hand on her arm, “We should probably move this conversation somewhere a little…quieter,” Sarah said, suddenly standing a lot closer to Katherine. Katherine nodded, hoping the other woman couldn’t tell just how fast her heart was racing at the surprise of seeing her so close.

Judging by Sarah’s smirk, she wasn’t as lucky as she’d hoped.

****

“Hey, you guys get a load of this?” Race asked them as they walked up to him outside the school. Jack didn’t know why Racer was here so early, he didn’t have a class until two. But then again, sometimes Race just did odd things. Normally he would just shrug and say, “It felt right.” It tended to piss off people who didn’t know that was just how Race worked. And sometimes also the people who did know. Because he couldn’t be vaguer than that if he tried, and he knew it, and Jack knew that Race was, at his heart, an asshole.

Jack looked behind him at the large group of people he was talking about. There was no chanting or protest signs, but it was clearly that. A protest, that is. _The_ protest, most likely, though why they’d shown up at the college now was beyond Jack.

“Do you know what they’re here for?” Romeo asked eagerly, practically vibrating in excitement next to Jack. Jack sighed internally. The kid was far too invested in those protests for his own good. Not that it didn’t make sense, given their cause, but it wasn’t good for Romeo to want so badly to get involved. It was just going to leave him disappointed. Or worse, found out.

Race shrugged as he pushed off the wall to walk with them, falling easily into step next to Crutchie, bumping shoulders with the other boy in greeting. Jack brought up the rear, keeping an eye on his people. Whatever the protests were here for, they would have to walk through them to get onto campus, and he’d rather not lose any of the boys in the crowd. Romeo, who was already trying to rush ahead, would find a way to get into trouble in a crowd like this. He had no idea where Race’s luck was falling today, and Crutchie, though he’d say differently, still had trouble with large, excited crowds. No, it would be better if he could keep them all together.

He was so focused on keeping an eye on them that he almost missed Race’s reply. “I think they were getting signatures for somethin’. Something ‘bout acceptance, I don’t know.”

“Course they are,” Jack grumbled under his breath. They were well into the crowd now and Jack groaned internally as they seemed to catch the attention of one of the many people wandering about with clip boards. He tried to hurry the others forward, not looking forward to having to deflect why he didn’t want to get involved, but Romeo was already smiling at the guy’s greeting, and then Crutchie was saying hello, and there was really no leaving then.

Jack settled in, staying in the back of the group, looking around at the rest of the crowd, not paying attention to what the others were talking about. It was busy, but seemed pretty calm, for the moment, anyway.

Don’t get Jack wrong, the protests had a worthy cause. He’d be a hypocrite if he said otherwise just because he was safe in his obscurity. There were plenty of people like him who couldn’t hide, who had their status as metas stamped out on everything from their medical records to their driver’s license. Jack knew he was lucky. He and his boys. But that didn’t mean they weren’t at risk of the exact same treatment if their powers were ever found out. Possibly worse, given that they’d managed to hide it for as long as they had. No one liked being defied, especially not people used to being in charge.

“And what about you?”

“Huh?” Jack turned back at the question directed at him, caught off guard. And then found himself caught off guard again as he looked at the person asking the question of him. Those were some pretty eyes. In an equally pretty face. Jack couldn’t even formulate a response to make up for his initial embarrassing answer, he was too busy imagining what it would be like to draw this boy. Charcoal? Yeah, he could do charcoal.

“What about you?” The boy repeated, sounding significantly more amused the second time. Jack forced himself out of his daydream about drawing elegant cheekbones and painting bright brown eyes. He could just feel Crutchie laughing at him, he could see Race smirking. He hated his friends. Romeo, of course, had managed to slip away in the few seconds of Jack’s distraction.

“I’d rather talk bout you,” He said, stepping closer and angling himself to effectively cut both Race and Crutchie out of the conversation. Or at least out of his, and hopefully this boy’s, line of sight. Maybe he’d luck out and he could flirt his way out of talking about the protests.

For about half a second, he thought his plan would work, despite the snort he heard behind him that said Race didn’t have as much faith in him. Jack would have smacked him, but he didn’t dare look away from the boy’s face, which had gone a light shade of pink in response to his words, and wasn’t that just a lovely image? If that was the kind of reaction he got just from what was honestly vague and untargeted flirting, he wondered what kind of reaction a direct compliment would get him.

He was stopped from going too far down that path when the boy seemed to recollect himself, shaking his head slightly and straightening up. When he met Jack’s eyes again, the beginnings of the blush had, sadly, disappeared, pushed down under the boy’s dedication to his cause.

“Can we count on your support in calling out the administration for their discriminatory acceptance policies?” The boy asked, clearly repeating what he’d said to Crutchie and Race while Jack had been paying attention elsewhere, but not seeming to mind. When Jack didn’t respond immediately, the boy’s eyes practically lit up and he kept talking, clearly building up to a longer rant about the injustice of the college and the way metas were treated, the way the protesters always did.  “It’s absurd that they persist in having a student population without a single meta, and yet insist that they don’t discriminate in their acceptance, that it’s simply a result of the lack of meta applicants. They need to know they we aren’t fooled, and we won’t accept this continued injustice.”

Part of Jack wanted to laugh. If only the boy knew who he was talking to, just in this little group of them. The rest of Jack, though, had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes, because the problem was so much more than acceptance rates of marked metas. But this put-together, well-spoken, _earnest_ boy who was so clearly _not_ a meta, he couldn’t understand that, no matter how much he cared about fixing things. He was clearly waiting for a response, though, and Jack hated himself for what he had to do. Guess he wouldn’t get to draw those eyes after all.

“I’m sorry, pal. I ain’t interested in signing up for lost causes. I got folks of my own I gotta be lookin’ out for. Can’t go wasting my time fighting battles already decided.”

The boy’s expression shifted from earnest excitement to shocked surprise from one blink to the next. He opened his mouth like he was getting ready to argue and Jack couldn’t have that. He didn’t actually want to argue with the boy about this. He couldn’t bring himself to dim that light in those eyes, any more than he already had, that is. He just couldn’t be getting involved, he wouldn’t be the only one in trouble if he did. So, he did the only thing he could. He fled.

****

Sarah led her to the edge of the crowd, turning to her once they were out of the bustle of excited people. “Why are you writing this article, Ms. Plumber? If your editor hasn’t told you to, I mean.”

“It’s Katherine, please.” That suddenly felt very important, that Sarah call her by her first name.

Sarah’s smirk, which hadn’t quite faded from earlier, only grew wider at that. She nodded, “Katherine, then. You haven’t answered my question.”

Katherine took a breath, trying to steady herself in the face of this girl looking at her like that. She didn’t have time to lose her cool right now, not matter how pretty Sarah Jacobs looked with a grin on her face and amusement in her eyes. “I work for the Sun, like I said. I usually do entertainment pieces, show reviews. It’s not—it's not where I want to be.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Plenty of people love the entertainment section,” Sarah replied evenly when Katherine didn’t continue right away.

Katherine nodded, because she was right, but. “I want to write serious news. Something that matters. What’s going on in the world, not just what new show is running on Broadway.”

“And you think writing about our protests is the way to do that.” It wasn’t a question, but Katherine nodded in answer like it was anyway.

“Why?”

Katherine furrowed her brow, confused. “Because you’re doing something big. Something that shouldn’t be ignored. No matter what happens, these protests have changed the conversation. They’ve changed how we have to view our world and our actions.”

“And don’t forget about the metas we’re protesting on behalf of.”

“Of course not, and any of them who would talk to me I’d be glad to include—”

“I’m going to stop you, Katherine,” Sarah interrupted, holding a hand up. “You aren’t the first reporter to want to write about our protests so that they can make it big. We’ve seen how that goes. I hope you get to write the serious stories you want to. But if you’re going to write another article like the one that ran in the _World_ last month, I’m sorry but you won’t be doing it about us.”

Katherine winced, thinking back to the scathing article in her father’s paper a few weeks back. The reporter had very obviously written his opinions into the article, calling the protests the “attention-seeking cries of privileged millennials playing the victims.” It hadn’t been a fun read.

“I’m not,” she rushed to assure Sarah, who looked like she was about to leave. Katherine took a chance and placed a hand on her arm to hopefully prevent that. “Please. The news shouldn’t be like that. I know plenty of people think what you’re doing here is just a way to get attention and that the problems you’re highlighting are just made up, but.” She took a breath. “Reporting should be non-partisan. Opinion pieces have their place, but not when those opinions are presented as fact. You haven’t had someone write about the facts, the real facts, about what you’re trying to do here. Let me.”

Sarah continued to stare at her, but she wasn’t actively moving away anymore. “I’m listening.”

“The news should tell people what’s happening, but not how to think about it. I think that’s all it’s been doing for far too long in regard to your efforts here. I want to give people the chance to make up their own minds.”

“Why?” Sarah asked quietly, her gaze not leaving Katherine’s.

“Because I want to be a reporter, not a politician. And the protests are getting a lot of focus right now, even if it’s not really a good focus, yet. If I want to break into serious reporting, this might be my best chance. And I should start how I intend to continue in my career.”

Katherine tried not to hold her breath as the other woman searched her face. She may have just shown her hand too early, revealing that, but something told her Sarah would have seen through Katherine right away if she’d said anything else. Eventually, Sarah nodded, apparently satisfied with what she’d found, and took a small step back, putting a more reasonable distance between them. Katherine’s hand fell back to her side.

“Neither David or I have any classes Thursday afternoon.” Katherine blinked, confused at the abrupt change in topic.

“Okay?”

“We can do your interview, then, if that works for you.”

“Oh! Oh, yes, that would be great.” Katherine scrambled to grab her planner and pen out of her bag, trying not to flush at Sarah obviously holding back laughter at her fumbling. “Does three work for the both of you?”

Sarah nodded, restrained laughter still hanging in her eyes. “Three is perfect. There’s a café around the block, it’s called Trinity, you can’t miss it. We’ll meet you there.”

Katherine didn’t think she could keep the smile off her face if she tried as she nodded back at Sarah. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much.” Sarah’s grin grew, and Katherine realized she’d just been standing there staring. “Right, I’ll just be,” she gestured awkwardly over her shoulder with her pen, “going then.”

“Katherine!” Sarah called out before she could get too far away. Katherine spun on her heel, stupidly pleased to have even a few more minutes to talk to this girl. “This article you’re writing. Be careful, okay?”

Katherine tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I just. Even being non-partisan, you’re going to be getting the word out there for us, and that’s more important for us than you probably realize.” Sarah sighed, looking back into the crowd. “There are a lot of rumors about us. About what we’re doing and why. And David and I will do our best to clear those up in our interview. But there are others. About meta involvement, both for us and against us. And we can’t confirm or deny any of those rumors. For a lot of reasons. One of them being that we don’t know for sure who involved in the protest has powers. For obvious reasons, those who aren’t marked don’t go around talking about it.”

“Against you?” Katherine asked, seizing on the phrase Sarah had tried so hard to gloss over.

“There are rumors—rumors that I can’t confirm or deny because I don’t know if they’re true or not—that there are people, most likely corporations, hiring metas to discredit the intentions of the protests. There’s no proof, though. And we can’t—the protests can’t handle unfounded speculation like that, it would shake our foundations if people thought, even for a moment, that the people we’re trying to help were against us. We’ve got enough problems right now, with the meta disappearences on top of everything else.” Sarah sighed, passing a hand over her face, clearly stressed. “Just please, I know you want this to be the start of your career, but please just report on what we’re doing, not what people think we’re doing.”

Sarah seemed really worried, and so Katherine nodded, “Of course. I should let you get back to your event. Thank you, Sarah, for taking the time to talk with me, and for not shutting me down.”

Sarah smiled, relief evident on her face. “You’re welcome, Katherine Plumber. I’m…I’m glad I met you today.”

Even as Katherine smiled back and watched Sarah turn back to the crowd before diving back in, her mind was racing with the possibilities of what Sarah had just told her. Metas hired to sabotage the protests claiming to be for their benefit. Now that was a story. She just had to find a way to prove it.

She’d always appreciated a challenge.

Now if only she could get an inside source. Someone who could tell her more about the meta presence in the protests than the Jacobs siblings.

****

Jack shouldered his way through the crowd with a mumbled excuse directed behind him. Race and Crutchie would move on at their own pace, and Romeo was already who knew where, the best thing he could do was just get out of the crowd. Most of what he’d been trying to avoid in that crowd had already happened anyway.

“Don’t mind him,” he heard Crutchie start saying as he walked away. Whatever else he said to make Jack’s excuses, Jack didn’t hear, finally managing to be swallowed by the crowd, away from the boy with the bright eyes and honest smile who Jack would probably never see again.

The crowd wasn’t exactly dense, but it was active, and difficult to move through. Jack kept an eye out for Romeo even as he slid through gaps between people, slowly but surely making his way towards the school buildings. He didn’t have much hope of finding the boy, he was small, and if he didn’t want Jack to find him, he wouldn’t. He was almost out of the crowd when he saw two women talking, space around them to squeeze through and get out of the damn crowd, though not enough to do so without stumbling into one of them. He was about to go for it, just to finally be out of this crowd and away from the protests when he noticed how intently they were talking, one of the women holding onto the other’s arm. Whatever they were talking about, they didn’t need him interrupting them by bumping into one of them. Squaring his shoulders, Jack turned away from the easy exit in search of another one.

It was another few minutes before he finally broke free of the crowd. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that the crowd was chaotic, or even particularly loud, it was just being somewhere he didn’t want to be that was overwhelming. Straightening his bag on his shoulder, Jack made to walk into the campus proper, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.

Jack turned, ready to snap at whoever was grabbing him, when he saw his brother looking at him steadily.

“Spot,” Jack said, relief evident in his voice, “didn’t see ya there. What’re you doin here?” Spot didn’t go to college anymore. He’d finished up his associate’s last year, so he could officially work at the garage he’d basically been working at since high school.

“Elmer forgot his flash drive,” Spot replied, brow furrowing slightly as he looked over Jack’s shoulder to where Jack had just come from. “Was bringin’ it to him. Jack, you weren’t doing something stupid, like signing up for that shit show, were you?”

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand behind his head. He didn’t bother trying to free his arm from Spot’s grip. “No. Was just trying to get through.”

Spot nodded, finally letting go of Jack’s arm. “Good. Because you know we can’t risk—”

“I know, Spot,” Jack interrupted him. He didn’t need a lecture from his younger brother right now, especially not one that Spot didn’t want to have to give. Neither of them needed that. “Sides, we got our own way of helping.”

Looking at his brother, standing close so as not to be overheard, Jack finally noticed the dark bags under his eyes. Spot must have gone out without him last night. He’d have to ask Tommy Boy or Elmer later. Hopefully Spot hadn’t gone out alone.

“Yeah, we do. Does a hell of a lot more good than these’ve done, too,” Spot said, gesturing at the crowd still buzzing behind Jack. Jack nodded in agreement, the protests hadn’t had the best success rate over the years. Spot nodded decisively, evidently considering the matter settled. “Elmer told me ta wait for him out here, but I’m startin’ ta think I’ll just go find him. You know where his classes are?”

“Yeah, that building over there.” Jack pointed at the building on the far side of the small quad. “If he had a meeting with someone, he’s probably on the third floor.” Spot nodded his thanks and turned to leave. “Hey, Spot!” Jack called before he could leave, and idea coming to him. Spot looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Jack. “It’s just. Crutchie and Racer stopped ta talk to one of the folks getting’ signatures. I gotta get to class early, got paints ta mix, you know. You think you could make sure they get out alright?”

Spot sighed but turned back around to face Jack fully. “Go on, Cowboy, I’ll keep an eye out for ‘em.”

Jack smiled. “Thanks, Spot, you’re a life-saver.” He’d gone a few steps past Spot towards his building when he remembered. He turned around and yelled at Spot, “Oh! Romeo was in there somewhere, too, if you want to keep an eye out for him.”

Spot rolled his eyes, “Just get to class, Kelly, before I change my mind.”

Jack shot Spot a mock salute and turned to push through the doors. As soon as they closed behind him, he snorted. Mixing paints. Honestly. At least something good had come out of this morning.

Racer’s luck must have been in his favor this morning after all.

****

“Don’t mind him,” Crutchie said, waving a hand after Jack’s retreating back as he turned back to David. “He gets like that sometimes, he don’t mean nothing by it.”

Race snorted, “Yeah. He just thinks he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, is all.”

Tension still radiated off David in waves, but it lessened slightly, and he nodded anyway. “Well. I guess I should thank you two for signing this, then, shouldn’t I? If your friend is so against it.”

“Ah it’s nothing.” Crutchie waves his hand again. And the thing is, the petition really is nothing. They all know the college won’t consider it long enough to consider what it says, let alone examine who signed it. Sometimes, Jack could be too paranoid for his own good. “And Jack ain’t against it, ‘xactly. He’s just…”

“Preoccupied?” David asks, a smirk curling around the edge of his mouth.

Crutchie laughs, surprised. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You know,” Race started, his tone of voice catching Crutchie’s attention. That tone never meant anything but mischief. “I betcha you could convince him. Wear him down, ya know?”

Oh, Crutchie liked that plan. “Yeah, Jack’s not so bad when ya get to know ‘im. ‘Sides, plenty a those folks he says he’s gotta look out for would be happy to sign.”

David perked up, visibly and not so visibly. Crutchie almost wanted to laugh. Yeah, Race was onto something here. “Do you really think so?”

“Oh yeah.” Race shot Crutchie a conspiratorial smile. “We ain’t really got time to volunteer, but we’s definitely on your guys’ side in all a this.”

“Speaking of not having time,” Crutchie began, glancing down at his phone, “I gotta head to class if I don’t wanna be too late. David.” He pointed at the boy, who looked like he was about to nod goodbye and vanish back into the crowd without another word. “When we’re not in class or work, we’re usually at Jacobi’s, the restaurant on the other side of the park, or sometimes at Trinity round the corner.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t have much free time, either, when I’m not organizing this kind of thing.” David gestured around them at the crowd. “And pretty much any time we do have, my sister and I are helping our parents and taking care of our little brother.”

“Bring her with you, we don’t bite. Your baby brother, too, Racer here’s a great babysitter.” Crutchie ignored Race’s indignant sputtering as he turned the other boy around and gave him a push to get him moving through the crowd. “We’d better see you later, David, I’ll be real offended if we don’t.”

Crutchie smiled when David laughed, looking surprised, before nodding and gesturing for Crutchie to get moving.

Crutchie walked in Race’s wake through the crowd, which was much larger than it had been when they’d gotten there, only to force himself to an abrupt stop to avoid crashing directly into Race.

“Racer, what the hell—” Crutchie started, moving around the other boy, only to cut himself off when he caught sight of his brother scanning the crowd. Typical. If Crutchie could connect the anxiety-excitement-thrill radiating off Race to its source, how come the man himself couldn’t? What had Crutchie done to deserve this? Crutchie took the three steps necessary to bring himself into Spot’s view. “Heya, Spot, fancy seeing you here.”

“There ya are. Took you two long enough,” Spot replied, not returning the pleasantry, as usual. Crutchie didn’t let it bother him. He knew Spot was happy to see them. Well, he knew he wasn’t annoyed, despite what his tone may imply.

Crutchie shrugged. “We got caught up talking to one of the volunteers. Cute guy, right, Race?” He called behind him, startling Race out of his stillness.

“Sure, if ya go for preppy,” Race scoffed, walking the few feet out of the crowd to join the other two.

“Jack sure seemed to,” Crutchie pointed out, directing a long-suffering glance at his brother. Really, the amount of emotional stunting between the two of them was ridiculous. They were more than happy to poke fun at each other for it though, even if they couldn’t recognize it in themselves.

Spot rolled his eyes at them both, not looking at Race. Crutchie thought he was being almost painfully obvious about it, though he had the advantage of knowing about the spike of panic followed by relief Spot had just felt. Race, lacking that, probably didn’t think anything of the way Spot was very determinedly staring to the left of him. “Cowboy said as much. Bout the talking, not the guy. Just hope you two was being smart, is all.”

“Spotty, I’m hurt,” Race said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest and leaning on Crutchie for support, who rolled his eyes at the theatrics but tolerated it. “I’m always smart.”

Spot raised a single eyebrow, finally looking at Race. Race squawked in offense.

Crutchie rolled his eyes at the two of them. Ridiculous. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Spot, everything’s under control.”

“Yeah, Spot, Lady Luck loves me!” Race insisted. Crutchie didn’t need to see him to know he was winking.

“No, she don’t, you lost $60 in poker to _Hotshot_ last week.”

Race waved a careless hand, finally pushing away from Crutchie’s shoulder, “Semantics.”

“Sure it is, Racer.” Spot rolled his eyes, but the fondness in the gesture was obvious, even without the ability to sense it.

Honestly. These idiots were going to be the death of Crutchie.

“Okay,” he said, startling both of them out of their eye contact. “I’m gonna go to class. You two crazy kids have fun hanging out together at school when you don’t even gotta be here.” He was walking away before they could respond, not very interested in hearing them make up excuses. As if everybody didn’t already know, anyway.

Well, he amended, everyone but the oblivious idiots behind him.

Seriously, Crutchie deserved a medal for the amount of emotional stupidity he put up with on a daily basis.

****

Katherine started walking away from the crowd and the college, already writing down ideas in her planner, uncaring that she was writing over the calendar squares and some of her weekly appointments. Her mind was working too fast to wait for her to find her notebook.

She was thinking through how to convince a meta to help her expose the underhanded actions of the big companies, never mind that she didn’t yet know _which_ big companies, or how to find a meta to help her, when she nearly ran headfirst into someone skirting the edge of the crowd.

“Oh my gosh, I am _so_ sorry!” Katherine scrambled to apologize to the boy she had nearly bowled over. And it was a _boy_ , a young one, too, either that or just very short. He was already brushing off her apologies as he bent down to pick up the planner she had dropped in her attempt not to knock him over.

“Don’t even worry about it, beautiful,” the boy laughed. “It was worth it, to get to talk to you.”

“No, really, I’m sorry, I should have been looking where I was going,” Katherine insisted, while the boy stood up, brushing the dirt off her planner. And then didn’t give it back to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked.

The boy shook himself, looking back up at her, and she realized he’d been _reading_ her planner, the _hell_ —

“Why’re you so interested in finding a meta, anyway?” He asked, finally handing the book back to her, unconcerned at being caught snooping.

Her internal tirade cut itself off in her shock. “Excuse me?”

“Your notes. Step 1 convince a meta to help me,” He repeated her words back at her, and she could hear, a bit, how that sounded. It wasn’t great. “What’re you plannin’ on doing?” There was an eagerness to this boy, and his smile had yet to leave his face.

Well, she considered, she _was_ still in the protests. If there were any people who were likely to help her with this, they would be here. “Why? Do you know any?”

The boy’s smile widened. “Maybe,” he drawled, “depends. Why’re you lookin’ for one?”

“Because someone is hiring metas to sabotage the protests and I want to find them.”

If possible, the boy’s eyes lit up even more. “And you don’t want to be running into anything blind.”

“I’m not even sure where to be running into, yet. So, do you know someone who would help me?”

The boy stood straight and offered her his hand, “Name’s Romeo. At your service…” He trailed off with a raised eyebrow and a nod towards his still extended hand.

She shook off her surprise—that had been easier than she’d been expecting—and shook his hand. “Katherine.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Katherine.” He dropped her hand slowly, not looking away from her gaze. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I have theories I need to run down, I won’t be ready to do anything until I have a better idea of who’s been hiring them. Unless you know where we should go now?”

“Nah, I got no idea. I’m not really supposed ta be getting mixed up in all that, but I got some friends who are. I’ll ask, see if they got any ideas.” She nodded, that was more than she was expecting. “Here, gimme your book again.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows but complied. “What are you doing?” She asked when he unclipped the pen from the spine and started writing, just under where she had finished her notes.

“Giving you my number, so you can let me know when we’re going out. Ta catch the bad guys, of course.” He winked at her, flipping her planner closed and handing it back to her, pen once again secured in the spine.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked, considering him.

“You can ask me anythin’ you like, beautiful.”

“Wasn’t that risky of you, to just announce yourself like that? What if I’d decided to tell someone?”

Romeo smiled brightly at her, “Nah, you wouldn’t tell on me, would you, Katherine?”

And Katherine didn’t know why, maybe it was the smile, maybe it was how painfully young this boy was, but she found herself shaking her head, more resolved to keep his secret than before. “No, I wouldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, so this is my second fic for newsies, and definitely my longest. I've got the first four chapters written already, and ideally I will be updating this every Saturday. I'm really excited about this story, it's mostly a self-indulgent excuse to write a superpower AU, but I hope it will be fun. Huge thank you to Maia for editing for me and helping me decide to actually start this in the first place.
> 
> Please leave comments and/or kudos, they fuel my motivation, and I'd love to talk about this.
> 
> On tumblr at newsiesquare.


	2. The Scooby Gang

“Hey, Davey, you just missed Race!” Crutchie called as Davey let the door to Jacobi’s close behind him. The other boy was waving at him from a group of tables in the back, clearly pushed together to accommodate a larger group than was currently sitting there. Davey couldn’t help but smile as he made his way over. He was so glad he’d decided to take Crutchie up on his invite the day after they’d met. And even more glad he’d kept coming back.

“He just left with Spot,” Crutchie explained with a significant look as Davey sat down.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Davey nodded sagely, affecting a knowing look. “How convenient. Seriously, good joke.”

Crutchie looked at him in confusion. “What’re you talkin’ about, Davey?”

Davey laughed and shook his head, “You don’t have to keep pretending. April Fools was months ago, you can drop the whole “Spot Conlon” gag.”

The table was silent for a moment following his words. Davey hadn’t realized everyone who was left was listening. And then, as if on cue, everyone burst out laughing.

Davey looked around in confusion. “What? What did I say?”

Albert just shook his head, unable to stop laughing long enough to reply.

“Sorry, Davey,” Elmer responded, hiccoughing a little as he tamped down his laughter enough to speak. “It’s just—ha—you not thinking Spot’s real.”

Davey was about to ask why, exactly, that was so funny when Tommy Boy spoke up, voice almost completely free from his laughter of earlier. It was an impressive skill, Davey thought. “As his roommate, Spot’s the most real person I know. He just don’t like socializin’.”

“He’s also the least real person, though,” Jojo chimed in, still giggling a little. “Ain’t nobody who does stone cold and unfeeling like Spot.”

“Watch it, that’s my brother you’re talkin’ about,” Crutchie said, mock sternly, pointing a finger at Jojo. The effect was ruined by the smile he hadn’t been able to wipe away from his face.

“Yeah and he ain’t here, so you can admit I’m right, it’s okay.” Jojo nodded reassuringly, an amused smile still on his face. He yelped and ducked when Crutchie threw a wadded-up napkin at him, which prompted another round of laughter, one which Davey was happy to join in on. At least this time he understood the joke.

“Okay, if he’s not some kind of prank, why does someone always do this when he comes up?” Davey asked, raising his eyebrows significantly, imitating the look Crutchie had given him earlier.

“Habit, mostly,” Elmer responds, shrugging and looking to the rest of the table.

Albert took over for him, “Figure we do it enough, maybe they’ll realize something’s up and get their heads outta their asses.”

“Who will figure out something’s up?” Davey asked. He had an idea, of course, but he was embarrassed enough to have convinced himself that Spot Conlon was an elaborate initiation-type prank, he didn’t want to be wrong with this, too.

“Race and Spot.” Davey raised his eyebrows at the pained tone of Crutchie’s voice. His assumption had been right, on the one hand, but that was not the reaction he’d been expecting, given the laughter from earlier.

“So, they’re pining for each other then?” Davey assumed, nodding, it wasn’t too weird in a group of friends as large and as close as this one. That kind of suffering in Crutchie’s voice could really only mean a few things, and if it was his brother and a best friend… Yeah, Davey could see that being difficult to deal with. He was having enough trouble with Sarah and her crush, but it wasn’t like he spent lots of time with Katherine and had to hear _her_ talking about it, too.

Albert shook his head, looking grim, a stark contrast to his near-crying laughter of just a few minutes ago. “They ain’t just pining for each other. That, we could handle. Lock ‘em in a closet and tell ‘em we won’t let ‘em out till they figure their shit out. Easy.”

“Albert, no,” Tommy Boy said, sounding like they’d had this discussion before. Many times. Albert pouted.

“Albert, yes,” Jojo countered, a shit-eating grin on his face as he shrugged in response to the glare Tommy Boy turned on him. Albert threw a hand up in victory. “Sometimes it pays to encourage him.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Davey, cut in, not wanting them to get too far off topic, not when things were finally getting interesting.

“If they were pining, they’d get frustrated enough and act on the damn feelings. Problem solved.” Elmer wiped his hands together to illustrate his point.

“Sure.” Davey nodded, that made sense. Of course, it would be better for all of their friends if they could just handle it on their own. “But that’s not what’s happening, is it?”

“Course not,” Tommy Boy shook his head, looking especially frustrated. Davey winced as he remembered that Tommy Boy and Elmer were Spot’s roommates. He’d dismissed it the first time it came up, still thinking that Spot Conlon was a prank, and earlier in this same conversation he’d been too caught up in coming to terms with the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, a prank to realize the implications of that. Those poor boys. Tommy Boy continued, “These dumbasses reached that point. And then they ran right past it and ignored their feelings on the way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They’s sleeping together,” Crutchie said with a pinched expression. “And both’re convinced it’s totally platonic and they can handle it and that their feelings are totally one sided. Which they ain’t. I should know.” Davey winced in sympathy. That had to be especially awkward for Crutchie. Davey couldn’t imagine how weird it would be to know that kind of thing about Sarah’s life. Although, he _was_ curious how Crutchie knew what they were feeling when it seemed like Race and Spot, given the other’s frustration, were being especially obtuse about every aspect of the situation.

“And they think we don’t know, either.” Elmer shook his head despairingly.

“As if we wouldn’t notice somethin’ was up when Race walked into movie night with hickeys down his neck!” Albert proclaimed, gesturing wildly in his indignance.

“Yeah and Spot couldn’t meet his eyes all night, you remember?” Tommy Boy added, smacking lightly at Jojo’s arm, prompting the other boy to nod, wincing at the memory. “Like that wasn’t obvious as hell.”

Davey nodded absently, taking his time to process what they were telling him. He’d be the first to admit that he didn’t know these boys all that well, he’d only known them a week after all. Less, actually. But he did know them well enough to guess how they’d likely been dealing with the frustrating situation. Finally, he stopped nodding, looking up at the other boys, meeting each of their eyes in turn before turning to Albert. The other boy must have seen something of Davey’s intent in his gaze, or maybe he wasn’t as in control of his expression as he’d thought, because Albert’s face lit up with a mischievous grin.

“So, how’re we messing with them?”

The chaos that greeted his question was the best kind. Everyone was talking over each other, thrilled to share their meddling.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Elmer shouted, earning them a glare from the couple a few tables over. Tommy Boy glared back until they turned away. Jacobi, as usual, didn’t intervene since there were no broken dishes. Davey turned his attention back to Elmer as the other boy continued talking.

“Davey, you gotta join the group chat!”

“Don’t,” Jojo and Crutchie responded immediately, the former shaking his head emphatically. Tommy Boy dropped his head to the table, while Albert sprung at Elmer, ending up with a hand haphazardly covering the other boy’s entire face.

Davey’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with the group chat?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Elmer insisted, pushing Albert’s hand away from his face. “We just use it for scheming and bitching. But it’s got a kick-ass name!”

“No,” Albert corrected, “it _would_ have a kick-ass name, but you keep changin’ my suggestions.”

Elmer shrugged, “I like the name. It’s _symbolic_.” He widened his eyes on the last word, clearly looking for some kind of revelation from Albert. Crutchie and Jojo had taken to staring at their phone and the ceiling respectively, very clearly wanting this conversation over.

Albert groaned in frustration and started countering back as to why his names were better than Elmer’s, and that the “symbolism” of Elmer’s name didn’t even make any sense. Tommy Boy, who hadn’t said a word about the group chat, started laughing helplessly into the table. Davey thought he might have heard him say something about rockets, but he wasn’t sure. Crutchie reached over blindly to pat at the other boy’s head.

Davey got the feeling this had happened before.

He was also relatively certain he didn’t want to be part of that particular group chat.

****

Katherine looked around anxiously for Romeo. The boy had said he would meet her at the corner of 9th Ave and 34th St to head to the small office she’d heard rumors was a front for one of the bigger corporations, used to hire metas off the books, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Katherine looked up and down the street, leaning off the wall she’d taken up position beside, then pulled out her phone to check that he had actually seen and responded to her text from that morning.

She spared an idle glance for the lock screen as she waited for it to recognize her thumbprint. Oh.

That would be why there was no sign of Romeo. It was still twenty minutes before they’d agreed to meet.

Katherine had had so much energy after her meeting with the Jacobs, she hadn’t been able to sit still in the intervening hours after she had left the café. She’d stress cleaned her apartment, reorganized the kitchen cabinets—Darcy would probably text her frantically in the morning because he won’t be able to find anything—and changed her outfit for tonight three times, not sure what one wears when breaking into a potentially very shady and dangerous business with a meta boy one barely knows. She’d settled on dark clothes, sensible shoes, and her hair back. And then looked at herself in the mirror, realized she looked exactly like someone planning a B&E would, and put on some glittery makeup to make it look more like she was on her way to a party.

Despite her anxiety about the night to come, Katherine couldn’t help but smile thinking back to the afternoon. She’d expected, at most, that she would interview the protest leaders for an hour, back when she’d first decided to write about the protests. And then she’d met them.

Now, Katherine knew how to hold an interview, she’d done plenty before. She’d gone down to the coffee shop with a list of straightforward questions about the protests and their goals and some potential follow-up questions. She’d recorded the whole thing on her phone, so she could quote them properly when the time came to write the actual article. She was prepared.

But half an hour in, Katherine had managed to ask only her first, most basic question: how the two of them had gotten involved in the protests. David and Sarah, as she’d expected, were the kind of interview subjects who worked very well off each other, picking up on where the other was going with ease. They were siblings, after all, and she’d seen them communicate more with less at the college when she’d met them. But unfortunately, that ended up backfiring on any hopes Katherine had had of a quick interview. Sarah would start in one direction, and it would spark David off in a different but related direction that would lead them all down a long path of anecdotes and age-old sibling disagreement about who had been to blame for a broken toaster that had gotten them both grounded. In addition to all that, she’d learned that Sarah was three years older than her brother, to his constant frustration, and that they had a younger brother named Les who they both seemed to adore. Eventually, they’d gotten to the part where their parents had been leading figures in the protests almost since their inception.

They’d talked for hours, and Katherine hadn’t been able to bring herself to mind. Sarah and David had been so animated, talking about their family, and that had held true when they’d moved onto the protests as well. Katherine had found herself joking and sharing small anecdotes of her own family, just to make Sarah laugh or goad David into trying to one-up her tales of sibling antics.

More than once that afternoon she’d found herself thinking that if she wasn’t writing an article about them, she could see herself being very good friends with both Jacobs. David was quiet, but honest, quick-witted, and took such genuine joy from teasing her sister. And Sarah. Well, Katherine was self-aware enough to realize she’d gladly be more than friends with Sarah, if she had the chance.

Katherine shook herself. She had to focus, she couldn’t spend all night thinking back to talking with Sarah all afternoon. This was important, if they could find proof that this company was employing metas to sabotage the protests, her article could have so much more of an effect than just spreading the word about the protests themselves. She could break the story of the year. Her editors at the _Sun_ couldn’t ignore that.

She looked down the road again to see two figures making their way up the street towards her. Given that it was nearly midnight, at the streets around her were deserted, Katherine tensed as the two figures continued walking directly toward her.

That is, she tensed until the smaller of the two figures started waving at her, great big sweeping gestures over his head.

She couldn’t help smiling at the boy’s antics as Romeo and his companion came to a stop in front of her. They weren’t dressed drastically different than she was, which was a relief, although the stranger was carrying a decent sized backpack, straps buckled over his chest for good measure. “Right on time, boys. And who’s this, Romeo?”

“Oh, this is Specs. He’s the friend I was telling you about.”

“Katherine Plumber,” she said, extending her hand to the taller boy. She tried not to be obvious as she looked him over. He didn’t strike her as having powers, but then again, neither had Romeo. Going by his low chuckle, he’d noticed, but he shook her hand and gave her a small smile anyway.

“Nice to meet you.” Specs didn’t seem as open as Romeo, who hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d arrived, but she found herself liking him in much the same way, all the same.

“So!” Katherine tried not to be startled when Romeo clapped his hands together, practically bouncing in place. “What’s the plan, boss lady?”

Specs rolled his eyes at her from behind Romeo’s back, but the gesture was fond, and Katherine couldn’t help the laugh it elicited. Romeo seemed unconcerned by the teasing from his friend, and he was definitely aware, as he reached behind himself to blindly but insincerely swat at the other boy.

Katherine gestured for the two to follow her, starting off in the direction of the Wiesel & Co. building. “There’s this business a few blocks away. I’ve been hearing some pretty consistent rumors that it serves as a front office for a bigger company to hire people off the books. Specifically, metas. I don’t know what corporation it’s a front for, or why they’re hiring metas off the books, but they only have twenty employees listed, and fifteen of those are marked metas. And I can’t find anything about what they actually do here.”

“What’s the place called?” Specs asked, falling into step next to her, Romeo stepping up to her other side.

“Wiesel & Co. Why, have you heard anything about it?”

Specs shook his head, “Just that the boss there, guy we call Weasel, is a real piece of work. I dunno about sabotaging the protests, but I know he and a few of his guys like to demand a “service fee” from some of the other folks livin’ round here.”

Katherine nodded, that added up with the information she’d been able to find. “They’re officially listed as a security company, but I can’t find any clients. It should be completely deserted at this hour, though.”

“You sure about that, beautiful?” Romeo asked, stopping them before they could round the corner onto 36th St. Katherine turned to him with a raised eyebrow and he gestured in front of them. Katherine swore in her head when she saw the burly man halfway down the block leaning against the wall of Weisel & Co. in the entrance to the alley. The careful way he was scanning the streets at the end of the alley marked him as a guard. Well that wasn’t what she’d been hoping for.

“There isn’t another entrance to that building if we want to avoid breaking any windows or being seen by anyone who lives around here. We’ll just have to take care of him. Temporarily, I mean.” Katherine looked expectantly at the two boys with her. They in turn, looked at each other.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Specs said, a considering grin growing on his face before he walked to the corner, crouched down in the shadow of the building to stay out of the guard’s sight. And then he whistled. Except, Katherine could have sworn the sound had come from the other end of the block. The guard, apparently, agreed, and pushed out of his slouched position to round the building and inspect the source of the sound.

Grinning, Specs stood up and gestured for them to follow him before sprinting around the corner. Romeo glanced at Katherine before grinning and taking off after his friend, Katherine on his heels.

“That was awesome, where’d you learn to do that?” Romeo whispered excitedly to Specs as they crouched behind a car parked just across from the alley. The guard hadn’t actually gone around to the other side of the building, Katherine could see him standing at the other end of the alley when she poked her head around the front of the car.

“Finch taught me. Fuse box in our building blew a few months back. There’s only so many times you can play poker in the dark with Race and Albert.”

Romeo laughed, “So wait do you—"

“Boys!” Katherine interrupted, not interested in spending the whole night hiding behind a green sedan in Hell’s Kitchen. She took a breath, remembering the guard still staring out the other end of the alley, and lowered her voice to a whisper, “What do we do now? That trick isn’t going to work twice.”

“Romeo?” Specs asked, looking at the other boy expectantly.

Romeo nodded, “On it.”

“No, Romeo, don’t! What are you doing?” Katherine stage-whispered after the boy as he sprinted out from behind the relative safety of the car. She huffed and made to go after him—if he was going to be stupid, he shouldn’t do it alone—but a hand on her arm stopped her.

“Let him go, he’s got this,” Specs said as he pulled her back down behind the car.

“How do you know?” she asked, sneaking a glance through the driver’s side window at Romeo who was standing calmly by the alley door. He’d taken up the guard’s former pose. “ _What_ is he doing?” She directed her question at Specs this time, seeing as he was the only one around to actually answer her.

“Waiting for a chance to use his powers to get us in, don’t worry.” Specs responded, sliding his backpack around to his front as he leaned against the car door, facing the closed shopfront behind them. He started going through it, pulling out a pair of MMA gloves, while Katherine snuck another look at Romeo.

She wanted to slap herself. The first meta she’d openly met, and she hadn’t even thought to ask him what his power was. “What’s his power?” She whispered back to Specs, still watching the boy in the alley. “Is he going to break the door down? Is he going to _melt_ it? Wait—” she turned back to Specs, her ponytail flying behind her. “What’s _your_ power?”

Specs smiled, bright in the dim street, and slid his backpack back on properly, now wearing the gloves he’d pulled out. “Oh, me?” He pushed off the car to his feet, not even glancing behind him to see what the guard was doing and turned to offer Katherine a hand up. When she looked through the driver’s window again, she saw Romeo waving at them, the door hanging open behind him. “I don’t have any powers.”

Katherine stared at him. Part of her didn’t believe him, why else would he be here if he didn’t have powers, but she forcibly shook off her surprise and skepticism. They had more important things to focus on than if he had powers or not.

“Come on, guys, hurry up! I don’t know how long this’ll last,” Romeo called lowly from the alley. Specs gestured her ahead of him, half a smile still on his face. Katherine gave him a calculating look as she passed him but returned the smile. If he was lying to her, she got the feeling it wasn’t out of malice. And given the general state of the world, she couldn’t even really blame him.

It wasn’t until she reached Romeo and saw the glassy-eyed guard holding the door open that she started to understand at least part of the puzzle. She walked through the door quickly, trying not to dwell too much on the man standing absently in the alley. Behind her, she heard Specs clap Romeo on the shoulder with a cheery “I’m sure you did fine, Romeo.”

Just _what_ had she gotten herself into?

She turned to Romeo with a raised eyebrow as he jogged up to walk with her in the dim office building. “Can you do that with anything?” She asked, despite not quite knowing what “that” was yet. She needed to know just what she was working with here, an oversight on her part for not finding that out from the beginning.

“Nah, just with people. When the mood is right,” he replied, shooting her a wink like they shared some kind of secret now. She supposed they did.

“So, what’re we lookin’ for, boss lady?” Specs asked, shrugging at her when she turned to raise an eyebrow at the continued use of the nickname.

“They have to have some kind of record of the people they’re hiring,” Katherine replied, leading the other two deeper into the building. “Names, contact information at the least. This is hardly a regular office, but they can’t function if they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“So, split up, find whatever we can, and then get outta here fast as possible?” Romeo proposed. “I’m not sure how long that guy’s gonna be cool just standing out there.”

Katherine nodded in agreement. Time was of the essence. “Try not to turn on the lights if there’re windows. We don’t want anyone on the streets getting suspicious.”

“And yell if you need anything,” Specs added as they reached an intersection.

Katherine looked at the two boys. “Everyone got it?” They nodded. “Good. Let’s go.” Katherine turned right, Romeo went straight, and Specs took the passage on the left. She just hoped they found something, and quick.

The first office she checked was a bust. Half the drawers were empty, and the computer had a password protected login, which she didn’t have the time or equipment to break.

She was in the second office when she heard a door slam. She listened for a moment before dismissing it, it was probably from somewhere down the street, the sound carrying through the open door in the alley.

She’d run into the same problem with the computer in this office, but the filing cabinets certainly weren’t empty and the files inside them were illuminating, to say the least. It seemed that she’d stumbled into the payroll clerk’s office. Or at least what passed for it here. She was taking photos of a file with her phone when she heard the voices. They were still too far away to make out what they were saying, but they definitely weren’t Specs and Romeo, and they were coming from the direction of the open alley door. Or, more likely, from the direction of the formerly open alley door.

Katherine nearly tripped over herself in her haste to flip the light switch off and hide herself back behind the desk. She listened for a few moments, trying to tell if the voices were getting closer. When it didn’t appear that they were, she reached up blindly onto the desk for the file. She needed those pictures, if only for a lead into who to investigate. She was glad the company behind this hiring front, whoever they were, had splurged on desks with modesty panels as her phone flashed with each picture. If they could just stay hidden long enough to wait out the guards, they could probably get out of this alright. It didn’t seem like the guard from the alley remembered letting them in, or they’d have started searching the building already. But she needed those pictures.

Katherine’s head shot up when she heard the whistle from the direction of the alley. Specs. He must not have heard the guards come in. She had jumped out from behind the desk before she had even finished the thought, heading out of the office back towards where they’d come in.

Wait. Her steps stuttered. Specs could _throw his voice_.

She turned on her heel and ran in the other direction, footsteps silent on the carpeted floor. She nearly ran into the man in question as she rounded the corner towards the street-facing side of the building.

Specs stopped her with a hand around her upper arm and one over her mouth, stopping the yell she was about to let loose. He removed his hands after a moment and gestured behind him with a nod, turning to walk into one of the open plan rooms that occupied this side of the building.

Romeo was waiting in the room, pacing, and visibly slumped in relief upon seeing Katherine. Katherine didn’t even pretend she didn’t feel the same. She’d brought these boys into this, they were her responsibility, even if they did have abilities she didn’t.

She turned away from Romeo to see where Specs had gone, only to find him tapping away on his phone. Her brow furrowed.

Romeo seemed unconcerned by this, as he’d gone back to pacing. “What're we gonna do, Specs?” He whispered frantically. “How’re we supposed to get outta here with _two_ Delanceys guarding the door?”

“They don’t know we’re here yet, we just have to figure out how to get past them,” Katherine reasoned. She didn’t know what a “Delancey” was, but she could guess.

“Don’t worry, I got a plan.” Specs shoved his phone back into his pocket and strode over to the windows, raising the blinds on all of them.

“We can’t go out the windows, someone will hear us,” Katherine hissed.

“We’re not. I just need them open.” He walked over to the doorway and paused, looking back at her and Romeo in the dim light from the street outside. “Get ready for a fight, both of ya. They’re gonna notice this, I just hope they ain’t the only ones.”

Katherine glanced at Romeo, who looked as confused as she did, but squared her shoulders anyway, backing up to stand next to him in the middle of the room.

Specs turned on the lights.

“What are you doing?” Katherine stage whispered even as she blinked in the sudden brightness.

“Makin’ sure help can find us. We just gotta hold out ‘til they get here.”

“Okay, but why did you have to do it so that _they_   would know we were here?” Katherine asked, her voiced strained. She didn’t bother regulating her volume. She could hear the guards’ voices coming closer. Specs stepped back to stand beside her and Romeo. She could feel the younger boy trembling, even as he lifted his fists.

“Do you trust me?” Specs asked, adjusting his gloves, and _oh_ he’d been so much more prepared for this than her from the beginning.

“I don’t know yet.”

Specs raised his eyebrows, considering, before giving her a half nod, as if to say that was fair. “Romeo, any chance of your special talent getting us out of this one?” Specs asked, not sounding like he expected an affirmative answer.

And he didn’t get one. Romeo started shaking his head before Specs had even finished his question. “I don’t know how to convince our way outta this.”

Katherine briefly considered throwing caution to the window and just breaking one of them to get out, but before she could voice this opinion, two large shadows stepped into the door frame.

“Well, well, well, wouldja look at what we have here,” The first shadow said, stepping into the room to reveal a muscular man in a dark Henley. He was sneering at them. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some trespassers, Morris.”

“Looks like we do, Oscar.” The other shadow, Morris, said. When he followed his companion into the room Katherine realized he was the guard they’d left outside, holding the door. Romeo’s trick hadn’t lasted long, at all.  “What d’you think you’re doin’ here?” He directed this question at them.

“What’s it look like?” Specs asked, false bravado brightening his voice. He stepped forward, so he was in front of Katherine and Romeo. Katherine tried not to be relieved. “We’re here ta steal all the paper clips and ink cartridges. So’s we can make you chumps look bad.”

“You little—," Morris ground out before rushing at Specs. Katherine didn’t see what happened, too busy being pulled away from them by Romeo. She could hear the sounds of stumbling and flesh hitting flesh from behind her.

“Nu-uh-uh, where do you think you’re going?” The other guard, Oscar, taunted as he stepped in their path.

“Katherine, get back!” Romeo yelled, pushing her behind him as he turned to the advancing guard. “You don’t want to do this,” Romeo said. He held his head high and looked Oscar directly in the eye, but his shaking voice betrayed his nerves.

Oscar scoffed, “Yeah, I really do.”

Romeo shrugged, “Worth a shot.” With a yell he charged at Oscar, arm swinging wide to punch him in the jaw. Oscar dodged backwards and grabbed the boy’s wrist, yanking him off-balance and twisting his arm behind him.

“Hey!” Katherine yelled, lunging forward even as Romeo elbowed his opponent in the stomach, forcing him to let go. Katherine, with the benefit of her momentum and the element of surprise, as well as Oscar’s distraction, did what Romeo hadn’t been able to. She punched the man in the face. He stumbled back, a hand coming up to his nose, which she was vindictively pleased to see was bleeding. Romeo charged forward again, kicking the man in the leg and sending him falling backwards onto a desk.

Katherine laughed as Romeo pumped a fist in the air. She couldn’t believe they’d done it. She returned Romeo’s offered high-five, happy to get caught up in his joy.

“Guys!” Specs called out warningly from across the room. When had he and Morris gotten so far away? Katherine turned back to Oscar when she felt Romeo tugging on her arm.

“Alright, ya know what,” Oscar muttered as he pushed himself back up. “That’s enough of that.” The man stood up, wiped his hand under his nose, and then cracked his knuckles.

“C’mon, you want another piece of this?” Romeo yelled, still high on their victory, despite it not being as complete as they’d thought.

“Do you?” Oscar cracked his neck, a show of intimidation that Katherine, frankly, found a little over the top. Even in this situation. Any criticisms she had of the man’s methods, however, fled her thoughts as he—the only word she could think for it was _multiplied_. One moment, there was one Oscar standing in front of them, bleeding nose and an ugly sneer on his face. The next, there were two, wearing matching sneers.

“Shit.” Katherine couldn’t agree with Romeo more. The Oscars lunged towards them, forcing her and Romeo to split up, her taking the right and him the left. Katherine ran further into the veritable maze of desks in the room, dragging chairs into the path behind her in an attempt to slow her pursuer down.

“Specs, they have powers!” Katherine shouted, pushing a rolling chair at the Oscar that was chasing her, with minimal success. He tossed it aside and she scrambled to get further away from him, catching her hip on a desk as she passed.

“I know!” Specs shouted back. Katherine turned towards him to see him ducking out of the way of a punch that left Morris’ hand stuck in a bookcase. He punched the man in the abdomen while he was somewhat immobilized.

Oscar—or maybe he was the second Oscar, she wasn’t sure—continued to advance on her, her obstacles only marginally slowing him down. Katherine looked behind her, trying to figure out her next move, when she realized she’d been stupidly working herself into a corner.

She took stock of her surroundings. Her only way out of the corner was through Oscar. Specs was still grappling with Morris, who’d managed to wrest his hand free of the bookcase. Romeo was on the other side of the room, struggling in a headlock from the other Oscar. She squared her shoulders and lifted her fists, ignoring the dull pain there. She’d punched him once, she could do it again. Maybe if she broke his nose, the other Oscar would feel it, too.

She didn’t get the chance. Anticipating what she was going to do, Oscar grabbed her arms before she could strike. Katherine was struggling to free her arms and debating the merits of kicking the man when the night took another turn for the unexpected.

It was impossible to miss from her vantage point in the corner when it happened. Between one blink and the next, there were two men standing in the middle of the room. The blond had a hand on the brunet’s shoulder, and they looked ready for a fight.

The two new arrivals assessed the room, and Katherine lost sight of the blond one, only to find him again over by Specs and Morris. Katherine renewed her struggling against the Oscar holding her. They had barely been holding their own against three opponents, but if they were going to lose, she wanted to lose fighting.

The dark-haired man, now holding a bat, though Katherine couldn’t say where he’d gotten it, charged at the other Oscar and Romeo.

“Romeo!” Katherine yelled, trying to warn him, even though neither of them were in a position to do anything about it. She kicked at Oscar only to be shoved further into the corner for her efforts. She watched, trapped, and prayed Romeo would be able to get out of this somehow. And then the stranger hit the other Oscar in the back, forcing him to release his hold on Romeo.

 “Maybe we should find out how you does in a fair fight, Oscar.” Katherine’s mouth dropped open as the stranger kicked the other Oscar further away from Romeo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, cliffhanger? Sort of?
> 
> Also, I'm sorry, these chapter titles are going to be either super relevant to what's going on, or some completely shitty joke my brain came up with while I was writing. There will probably be no in-between, but I guess we'll see.


	3. Right Before Your Eyes

The man helped Romeo up as he stumbled from the sudden shift in balance. Breaking out of her stupor, Katherine wrenched her hand free from the still distracted Oscar’s grip and shoved her palm up into his nose. She ducked under his arms as he clutched at his now almost certainly broken nose and ran, trying to get to the more open part of the room.

“Tommy Boy, get Romeo and the girl outta here!” The dark-haired man shouted, his bat now gone, even as he knocked an Oscar to the ground. Where had he gotten boxing gloves from? Romeo was leaning against a desk nearby, rubbing at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. His lip was split.

The blond boy, Tommy Boy apparently, shot the other man a mock salute from where he was darting around, distracting Morris from Specs, it seemed. He was moving so quickly she couldn’t track his movements. Before she’d realized it, he’d grabbed Katherine’s hand, shot her a wink, and then she wasn’t standing where she’d been.

In an instant she was standing outside the office, and in the next, before she could get her bearings from the first jump, she was sitting in the middle of a sedan’s backseat. Well, that would explain why she hadn’t been able to track his movements. Tommy Boy was twisted around in the passenger side, still holding her hand, and there was another blond man tapping out an unfamiliar tune on the steering wheel. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

The man in the driver’s seat looked over at them as Tommy Boy dropped her hand and vanished from the car. “How ya doin’?” The man asked, meeting her eyes in the review mirror.

“I’ve been better,” she replied, not able to muster the energy to care about how reedy her voice sounded. Her father would have called it undignified.

She jumped in her seat as Tommy Boy reappeared in the passenger seat, Romeo appearing in the seat on her right at the same time. Tommy Boy dropped his hand from Romeo’s shoulder before vanishing once more. Romeo slumped back in his seat, looking dejected. Neither he nor the driver seemed shook up by Tommy Boy’s sudden comings and goings.

“Where did he go?” Katherine managed to ask, not really sure which of the other two occupants of the car she was asking.

The driver answered, “Prob’ly to go help Jack ‘n Specs finish the fight. S’better not ta leave anyone fightin’ the Delanceys all alone.”

Katherine nodded, wishing she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t known about the Delanceys in advance.

A few tense, silent minutes later, Tommy Boy reappeared, this time at Katherine’s left with his hand around the dark-haired man—Jack’s—arm where he was sitting in the passenger seat, looking worse for wear. He was now sans both bat and boxing gloves. Katherine wondered if he was worried about losing them. Jack nodded, and Tommy Boy vanished again.

“Specs stayed back ta make sure they was out. They get here, and you drive, Race, back ta our place.” The driver nodded, putting the car into gear while Jack leaned back in his seat. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, but he had the beginnings of a nasty bruise forming on his left eye.

When it happened a few seconds later, Katherine noticed Specs’ appearance before she noticed Tommy Boy’s. Specs was seated to her left. Tommy Boy, however, was seated on Specs. He faced forward, looking for all intents and purposes like he was sitting in a normal seat, except he was absolutely sitting on Specs’ lap, she wasn’t imagining that.

Specs grunted even as the car darted out onto the nearly deserted street. “Damn, man, you’re heavy for a little guy, the hell.”

She could see Tommy Boy grin, his face illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights. “Sorry, dude, was this or the footwell. And I don’t fit in the footwell. I’da sat on Romeo, too, but I don’t think the lady signed up for that.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Katherine said, surprising herself as well as them. She looked at Tommy Boy, with his head brushing the roof every time the car hit a bump and his knees jammed into the back of the driver’s seat. “You look really cramped.”

Tommy Boy glanced at Specs, who shrugged as much as he was able, and turned so that he could maneuver his legs over Katherine’s lap, feet resting in Romeo’s, who didn’t react beyond lifting his hands to rest them on Tommy Boy’s shoes. In the driver’s seat, Race let loose a string of relieved expletives, before the shooting other boy an annoyed glance in the rearview mirror. “ _Thank you_ , I’d appreciate a little warning next time, Tommy Boy, if you _gotta_ stab me in the back with yer bony knees. I’m _driving_ , I don’t need no surprises.”

Now able to, Tommy Boy leaned back against the door, so his head would stop hitting the ceiling, resting an arm on the seat behind Specs for support, unconcerned with Race’s tirade.

“What the hell were you three thinking.” Jack didn’t say it like a question, but Katherine could tell an answer was expected anyway. Race stopped talking immediately. She glanced sideways at Specs. She didn’t know any of them really, but it had been her plan, she’d take responsibility. Specs, evidently understanding what she was thinking without her needing to say anything, shook his head. She really did like Specs. It was too bad she probably wouldn’t see him again, after how terribly tonight had gone.

“We had it handled,” Romeo grumbled into the silence.

“Oh, claro, of course you did,” Jack drawled sarcastically from the front seat, turning to look at Romeo incredulously. “Is that why Morris had ya in a headlock when we got there? Because you “had it handled”, Romeo?”

“We were takin’ care of it!” Romeo defended, leaning forward in his seat as much as Tommy Boy’s feet would allow. “It was three on two, we’da been fine.”

“Except for the fact that Oscar can duplicate, and two of ya ain’t never been in a fight in your lives, sure you’da been just fine.” Jack scoffed, not seeming to notice, or maybe not caring, that it just seemed to rile Romeo up even more.

For a brief moment, Katherine considered being offended that he’d assumed she’d never been in a fight before, but then, he was right.

Her hands were still trembling, just slightly, and she twisted them together on top of Tommy Boy’s legs. She didn’t want to think about how their weight was probably the only reason her legs weren’t shaking, too. He shot her a look, but she shook her head, it didn’t seem wise to interrupt Romeo and Jack right now. Besides, she was fine. Or she would be.

“If you would just let me go on patrols with you—”

“This is _exactly_ why I won’t let you, Romeo!” Jack interrupted. “Ya don’t know what you’re doing.”

“If you’d gimme a chance to learn, I would!” Romeo replied, his voice rising in frustration as he gestured widely in the backseat. Katherine leaned back towards Specs to get out of his way.

Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “You coulda _died_ , Romeo.” Without the scathing sarcasm, Jack just sounded tired.

For a moment, she thought Romeo was going to keep arguing. Then his shoulders dropped, and he slumped back in his seat. “I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point, kid.” Jack sounded almost pleading. She wondered how many times they’d had this argument.

“How’d you even know where we were?” Romeo sounded just as tired as Jack did, but seemed to be giving up the argument, for the moment anyway.

“Specs told me,” Jack replied, and Katherine thought he was about to continue, to go on about why Romeo should have told him himself, when Romeo interrupted him.

“Specs?” Romeo cried, his anger back as he turned in his seat and leaned around her to glare at his friend. “What the hell? Why’d ya tell Jack on me?”

Specs threw up his arms, as best he could with Tommy Boy in the way, palms out. “I didn’t tell on ya, man. I just told Jack where I was patrolling tonight. Asked him to be around with backup. Like I _always_ do. And then texted him when it looked like we was in trouble.” Well, that explained what he’d been doing on his phone before the Delanceys had found them, at least.

“And it’s a good thing he did, too,” Jack said, talking over Romeo’s continued protests. “Do you have any idea what woulda happened if we hadn’ta got there when we did?”

“We woulda handled it because we’re _capable_ of handling things, Jack. You don’t need ta baby me—"

“Hey, keep it down, I am _trying to drive_ ,” Race griped from the driver’s seat, cutting off Romeo as he built himself up to a proper rant of his own.

Jack spared him an unimpressed glance then looked out the front window. “Left up here, Racer.”

“I know where I’m going, Jack, I don’t need your backseat driving.”

Race didn’t turn left.

“I’m just sayin’, if you’da gone left we’d be—”

“You know what? I preferred it when you was yelling at Romeo.”

“Just drive, Racer,” Jack said, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. She looked to her right to see Romeo in much the same position, staring petulantly out the window at the passing buildings.

“Well, this is me,” Tommy Boy said, apparently unaffected by the tense atmosphere, as the car started to slow a few minutes later. He poked Romeo in the stomach with his foot, winked at Katherine, and smacked Specs on the chest with the arm that had migrated from the seat behind him to around his shoulders. And then he was gone.

Katherine tried not to feel unanchored at the sudden loss of weight.

The rest of the car ride was silent, but fast. Katherine didn’t think she’d ever driven through the city that fast. Though, she’d never driven through the city this late, or wanted a car ride to end so badly, either.

When the car pulled to a stop on the side of the road in front of an apartment building, Katherine wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She followed Romeo out of the car, because if she didn’t then Specs couldn’t get out, but then she just stood there on the sidewalk, feeling listless. She wasn’t even sure what part of the city she was in or how long it would take her to get home.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the hand on her shoulder. “Katherine.”

She turned to see Specs staring at her with concern in his eyes. He looked like he’d said her name more than once. “Why don’t you come in? You look real shook up, you shouldn’t be going home like this.”

Katherine nodded mutely, glad for the direction, and followed Specs’ guiding hand up the stairs and through the door she now realized Race was holding open. Jack and Romeo were nowhere to be seen.

“We’ll have ta wait for the next one. Less you wanna take the stairs,” Race said, letting the door close behind him and gesturing towards the stairwell further back in the entry. Katherine didn’t know where they were going, but every part of her balked at the idea of taking the stairs to get there. She didn’t think she’d make it up, the way she was feeling, like everything had crashed down on her shoulders and her head was too heavy to think.

Specs scoffed, “You kiddin’ me, man? I just went toe to toe with Morris stinking Delancey. I ain’t taking the stairs.”

Race shrugged, “Have it your way.” He obligingly pressed the call button for the elevator, leaning on the wall next to it to wait. Specs wrapped his arm a little further around Katherine’s shoulders.

Katherine numbly followed the boys into the elevator, staring at their reflections in the doors as they closed. She didn’t see what floor Race pushed. Specs’ arm hadn’t left her shoulder. It felt like the only thing keeping her up.

When the doors opened again, Katherine could hear yelling coming from down the hall. Familiar yelling. The words were indistinct through the apartment door, but she knew who was saying them.

“Damn. Was hoping we’d missed most’a this,” Race muttered, leading them down the hallway, towards the yelling, to apartment 710. He pushed the door open without a key.

“—that you don’t know what you’re doin’?” Jack’s indistinct voice clarified to words as the door swung open. Race hustled her and Specs through, closing the door as soon as they’d passed.

“I would if you’d just _show_ me, Jack! I could be so good at it, too.” Jack and Romeo weren’t immediately visible from the front door of the apartment, but Race and Specs, and Katherine by extension, walked directly through the entry to find themselves in the kitchen. There was another man there, facing away from them, a crutch resting on the counter next to him. Race clapped him on the shoulder before leaning on the bar facing the living room, with a front row view of Jack and Romeo. Katherine watched them, framed by Races’ silhouette on one side and the door frame on the other.

Jack pointed sharply at Romeo. “That’s not the point and you—"

“But no,” Romeo interrupted, speaking over the older boy. “you’re too worried bout keepin’ me here, like I don’t see all the same _shit_ in the world that you do!” He threw his hands up and walked out of Katherine’s immediate view, only to reappear on the other side of the kitchen wall, turning back to Jack when the other boy responded.

“I do this so you don’t _have_ to see that shit, Romeo! Why can’t ya understand that?” Jack pleaded, now out of her sight.

Romeo scoffed, turning to continue out of sight towards what must be the bedrooms. “You ain’t the only one who cares, Jack.”

“It’s my job to keep you all safe. Not yours. Just _leave it be_ , Romeo.”

“God, you—! You’re not my mother, Jack!” Romeo shouted, “So stop actin’ like it.” This last sentence was spat, and Katherine could just see Jack stumble back from where he’d stepped closer to Romeo, before she heard the sharp _slam_ of a door.

“You—mierda, I’m not—argh!” Jack shouted, making sharp, frustrated gestures towards the door, before turning on his heel and stomping into the room next to him, slamming that door as well.

The dramatic exits were followed by a few seconds of silence. Specs squeezed Katherine’s shoulder once before dropping his arm and walking into the living area to jump up on the back of the couch. He raised his eyebrows at her when she remained where she was, dried blood on his temple cracking with the movement. Katherine followed him slowly, nodding to the other man in the kitchen, who seemed unfazed by the recent shouting match or the stranger in his apartment. She came to a stop standing aimlessly on the other side of the bar from Race, feeling uncomfortable sitting when she didn’t really know any of the people who lived here. She wasn’t even sure _which_ of these people lived here.

“So,” she started, hating how small her voice sounded. She cleared her throat and started again. “Do they do that often, then?”

She didn’t know what she was still doing here. She should be home, looking at the photos she took and planning her next move, not standing in these strangers’ apartment feeling like she just got off the rollercoaster with the world’s highest drop. She needed to be better than this. She was a reporter, not a child.

Maybe she could convince them to help her. They certainly seemed to care about helping people, if Jack and Romeo’s argument was anything to go by. And they could be exactly what she needed to get the protesters evidence of the messier side of things, the things they were afraid to go public about. But she didn’t know why they’d let her stay, why they’d driven her to their home, why Specs had insisted she’d come up with them. She just didn’t understand.

“Eh, not as much as you’d think, considerin’,” Race replied, making her jump. She’d nearly forgotten she asked a question. She turned to the blond to see him lean forward, planting his elbows on the counter, and drop his chin into a waiting hand. “But never mind them.” He waved carelessly in the direction of the bedrooms with his other hand, a flirty smile growing on his face. “I’m more interested in you.”

The other man, the one with the crutch, smacked him in the back of the head as he walked past.

Race yelped, “What the hell, Crutch!”

The man continued, unperturbed, to the other side of the bar to hand Katherine the mug of tea he held carefully in his free hand.

“Thank you,” Katherine stammered out in surprise, cradling the warm mug between her hands.

“I’m Crutchie,” he said with a smile. “Sorry ya got mixed up in all this, but who are you?”

“Plumber. Uh, Katherine Plumber.” Katherine found herself mimicking his smile, just a bit, and she hurried to extend a hand to him. She could see him holding in a laugh as he shook her offered hand.

“Come on, Crutch, what was that for? Why’s Romeo the only one allowed ta flirt with pretty people?” Race whined, still rubbing the back of his head. Katherine blinked. Oh dear. Romeo had been flirting with her, that poor boy. She hadn’t even considered that, too preoccupied with—well, it didn’t matter. She hoped she hadn’t led him on.

Crutchie shook his head as he made his way over to Specs, handing him a small packet of wet wipes he’d been holding against his crutch with his other hand. “He ain’t. Specs can flirt with all the pretty people he wants.” The man in question snorted, accepting the offered wet wipes. Crutchie continued, turning back to Race, “There’s just plenty of otha reasons you ain’t allowed to.” Crutchie ignored Race’s puzzled look to wink at Katherine. “He’s really bad at it, for one. Embarrasses all of us. It’s painful, really.”

Katherine didn’t know why she was surprised to find herself laughing. These boys seemed to be good at making her laugh, all of them. She hadn’t laughed this much with people she’d just met since, well, since she met the Jacobs siblings.

Crutchie shot her a knowing look, even as her laugh was drowned out by Race’s indignant sputtering and Specs cackling from where he’d turned around on the couch to face the TV. As he walked around the couch to knock Specs’ shoes off the cushion, she got the feeling he’d heard her, or somehow knew just how good that laugh had felt, after the night she’d had.

Katherine sipped her tea, giving into her impulse and patting Race’s hand in consolation, another giggle escaping as Specs fell sideways onto the couch cushions, just catching himself from falling all the way to the floor.

“Alright, kids, serious time. Any a youse hurt?” Crutchie asked, pointing a stern finger at Specs and Race. Race shook his head, Katherine followed suit.

“Just a lot of future bruises. Morris is tough but he ain’t all that smart,” Specs replied, wincing a bit as he rolled his shoulders. “Could use some Advil if ya got it, but I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll live,” Crutchie replied with a wry look. “I ain’t gonna bother Jack while he’s brooding.”

“Why would you have to bother him?” Katherine asked, regretting that she hadn’t brought her purse, though it had made sense earlier tonight. But she had pain medicine there.

“Oh, he shut himself in the bathroom,” Race replied, glee evident in his voice.

Katherine stared at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, he did _what_?”

“He and Romeo share a room,” Crutchie explained, now sitting on the arm of the couch, facing her and Race. “Romeo got there first, so Jack took the next best thing. He’ll probably come out when he thinks he’s been in there long enough for us to forget about it. S’what he usually does.”

“So that does happen often, then?”

Race looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek. When he didn’t reply beyond that, Crutchie took over again. “Only with stuff like this. When Romeo gets antsy about Jack not lettin’ ‘im on patrols and such.”

“Every couple’a months,” Specs cut in, leveling an unimpressed look at Crutchie.

“And happenin’ more and more, lately,” Race added.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Crutchie said, glaring sternly at both the other boys. “Speakin’ of that, what were you all doin’ out there tonight?”

“That’s my fault, actually,” Katherine volunteered, lifting one hand from her mug sheepishly. Looking back on it, breaking into an office known to employ metas for unsavory jobs probably wasn’t her best idea. “I was hoping to find proof they were hiring metas to sabotage the efforts of the protests, so I can include it in the article I’m doing on them. The article needs some bite, or it’ll flop, but I needed proof before I wrote anything. I didn’t want to get their hopes up for some good press just to have it get buried or make things worse.” And she didn’t want to have her reputation as a reporter ruined before she even really got started.

“So then why were Specs and Romeo with you?” Crutchie asked. He didn’t sound angry, which was a relief. Though she got the feeling that Crutchie didn’t get angry too easily. That wouldn’t be a good combination, given his other two roommates.

“Well Specs just showed up with Romeo. I don’t know why he came.” Katherine lifted her hand up again, this time in a gesture of innocence. She met Specs’ betrayed look with a shrug and a half-smile.

“Specs?” Crutchie asked, tone still neutral.

“I was just looking out for Romeo,” Specs said defensively. “Figured I couldn’t stop him, so I should just go with ‘im.”

Crutchie conceded his point with a nod. “And Romeo?” He asked Katherine.

“I met him outside the protests. I told him I was looking for help from a meta to get some information on this and asked if he knew anyone. I figured if anyone was going to be able to help me, they would be there. He volunteered instead.”

“Wait, he just told you he had powers straight up? In public?” Race interrupted, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Not in so many words. He never said _those_ words, actually. It was more implied.”

Race ran a hand through his hair, nearly dislodging the cigarette stuck there. He shook his head, muttering indistinguishably. She thought it was something like, “the balls on that kid” followed by a strange statement about “not even my luck”.

She turned back to Crutchie, he seemed to be leading the questioning anyway. “I swear I didn’t know he didn’t have powers that would help in a fight. I hadn’t even thought there would be a fight. Specs was more prepared for that than me,” she added self-deprecatingly.

“What kind of powers did you think he had?” Crutchie asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even think to ask. About that or about if he knew how to fight. He just said he had powers and I ran with it,” Katherine blew out a puff of air, staring at the ceiling. “I brought a kid into my mess. I really didn’t mean to cause you all problems,” she said, turning an apologetic look to Crutchie.

“Hey, least you did it with good intentions,” Race said. She turned to him in surprise. He grinned at her, leaning over the island as he idly spun a gold coin. “Could’ve been worse, Red.”

“Katherine,” she corrected, dismissing the coin’s presence as something to examine later. She was collecting a lot of those kinds of things in this apartment.

“Whatever you say, Kath,” Race said, straightening up again, the coin disappearing into his pocket. Katherine sighed, but didn’t correct him. She had a feeling it would just encourage him.

“It’s not your fault, Katherine,” Crutchie reassured her. “You didn’t know what you were walking into any more’n Romeo did.”

“Did you at least find something? All I got were some account records, but they just said when they paid people, not who they paid.” Specs huffed, “Bout as useful as if I’d actually taken their paperclips and ink.” Katherine laughed, remembering his earlier jibe at Morris. Crutchie and Race shared a confused glance.

“Why would you’a done that?” Race asked for the both of them, speaking around the cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Specs shrugged, “Why not?” Race considered that for a moment before nodding, taking the cigarette out of his mouth again.

“I think I have their employee history,” Katherine answered, choosing to ignore that exchange. “Or at least a list of names they kept in a folder in a filing cabinet. It’s not much, but it’s a lead.”

“And you really think this’ll help the protesters?” Race asked, looking at her with surprisingly innocent eyes. The night they’d just had, the calmness with which he’d dealt with it, and the cigarette he was now spinning around his fingers made it easy to forget, but he was still so young. All of them were, really.

Katherine felt herself smile at him, “Yeah,” she said honestly, “I think it will.”

“If we can prove it,” Specs added.

“Yes, if we can prove it. Right.” She nodded, pointing at Specs. She turned to Crutchie, who had been quiet for the past few minutes. Her brow furrowed when she saw the pinched expression on his face, his eyes staring somewhere in the middle distance. “Crutchie, are you okay?” She asked carefully.

He didn’t respond to her, instead turning sharply to glare at Race. “Racer, go smoke one on the fire escape, I don’t care. Just stop floodin’ the place with your cravings, it’s making me anxious.”

Race slumped forward in relief against the bar for a minute before nodding. He shot Crutchie a mock salute as he passed him, opening the living room window and climbing out. The bright glow of his cigarette was visible against the skyline a moment later. Katherine hadn’t even realized that was the cause of his fidgeting. He must have been dying for a cigarette since the first time she’d seen him, tapping out what she now realized was a restless rhythm in the car.

“Sorry, couldn’t focus with all that floating around,” Crutchie said, turning from watching Race with concern to look at Katherine again. “But you really think you can help the protests gain some ground?”

“I do,” Katherine said slowly, dragging her gaze back to Crutchie. “If we can prove that big organizations have been working to delegitimize the efforts of the protestors? That could get the attention of some really important people. People who can actually do something about the issues they’re trying to bring to the fore.” Not to mention, of course, proving something like this would firmly establish her as an investigative reporter. She could even become the designated reporter for the protests, if she does it right.

“Just imagine,” Crutchie leaned back on the arm of the couch to smack Specs’ arm, an awed smile growing on his face. “They could actually make things better.”

Specs smiled softly at Crutchie. “Yeah. That’d be awesome.” He raised his voice, leaning over the back of the couch to look over Katherine’s shoulder. His gaze was surprisingly accurate for being upside down. “Wouldn’t it, Jack?”

Katherine spun around to see that Jack was indeed standing behind her, leaning against the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

“Yeah, _if_ they could do it.”

“Jack,” Crutchie started reproachfully, the earlier awe gone from his voice.

“Please don’t start, Crutch,” Jack sighed, his head dropping for a moment. He sounded so tired. “Plumber.” He nodded at her when he lifted his head again.

“Jack,” she responded evenly, the paused. She didn’t even know his last name.

“Kelly,” he supplied.

She nodded in thanks, “Well then I suppose I should thank you for the save tonight, Mr. Kelly. I don’t know how we would have gotten out of that without you and Tommy Boy’s help.”

“Don’t mention it. Just glad none of youse got hurt. That was a real stupid thing you did tonight, Plumber.”

Katherine sighed, “I know that. I know that _now_ ,” she corrected at his disbelieving head tilt. How a head tilt could be disbelieving she didn’t know but somehow this man managed. “But this is important.”

“Important for who? You ain’t got no powers, why do you even care?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ain’t nobody asked you that yet. I figured it was important.” At her questioning look, he shrugged. “Walls are thin. Most people like you don’t got a reason ta care about any a this. So what’s in this for you, Plumber?”

“I’m a reporter,” Katherine replied, trying not to sound defensive even as she stuck her chin out. “What’s in it for me is a story. And I want to find the truth.”

Jack stared at her for a moment before nodding. “What’re the chances he’ll let this go after tonight?” It took Katherine a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking to her anymore, but instead had turned his attention to Specs and Crutchie.

Specs gave Jack a skeptical look but didn’t offer any answer. Crutchie shook his head. “I dunno, Jack, he’s still really pissed off. I don’t think ya can keep him outta this anymore. Specially not now he’s got a solid cause.”

That was odd. Romeo hadn’t reappeared. For all they knew, he had fallen asleep. And yet Crutchie sounded so sure. Katherine filed that away for further examination, along with Race’s strange statement about luck and the sense she had that Crutchie knew more than he should. There was something more going on here than she was seeing.

“Specs?” Jack asked, not sounding like he was hopeful about the answer.

“Don’t look at me, I’m in this now.”

“Great,” Jack sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “The rest of ‘em should know, then. Least Tommy Boy and Finch and them. If patrols’re about to get harder, they should know why.”

“Patrols?” Katherine asked. That was the second time she’d heard them mention patrols that night, and if they meant what she thought they meant, she wanted to know why they were doing that if they didn’t want to help the protests. Because Jack was clearly hesitant to get involved with anything related to the protests.

Jack turned back to Katherine, “You should be there, too, you know more bout all this than the rest a us.”

“I should be where?” She asked, thrown by the apparent non sequitur and his lack of an answer to her question.

“Jacobi’s Deli, tomorra afternoon. S’not too far from where the protests were Monday. I guess we’ll see if you got any more support for this crazy plan of yours ta save the protests, or whatever it is you’re tryin’ ta do.”

Katherine smiled. That was probably as close to approval as she was going to get from Jack Kelly. “I’ll be there,” she promised.

Jack nodded before turning to yell out the window, “Racer, get back in here!” Race grumbled as he extinguished his cigarette and climbed back through the window, bringing the scent of tobacco smoke with him. Jack didn’t seem bothered by it. “Get you and Specs back home, it’s late and we’s all got class or work in the mornin.”

Race gave Jack a sarcastic salute. Specs pushed himself off the couch, leaving the TV remote in Crutchie’s hands. Both boys clapped Jack on the shoulder as they passed. “You need a lift, Plumber?” Race asked, waiting in the open doorway, spinning his keys around a finger.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, “yeah, that would be great. If you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “S’no problem.”

She turned around before she reached the door, remembering she was still holding the mug, still mostly full. She hadn’t had much chance to drink it. She walked back to put it on the counter. “Uh, thank you,” she said, looking at Crutchie, “for the tea and the hospitality.” She turned to Jack, who still looked exhausted. “And for listening.” He nodded, and she turned on her heel to follow Race and Specs back out of the apartment building.

When they got to the car, she shook her head at Specs’ offer of the front seat and slid into the back seat on her own. She told Race her address and watched the city pass them by while idly listening to the boys talk in the front seat. She was finally starting to crash from everything that had happened that night, really crash this time, leaving her just feeling tired. Even so, she noticed Race taking a different route than she would have—she’d seen the cross streets when they drove away from the apartment, they weren’t actually that far from her place with Darcy and Bill. She didn’t really think much on it, at this point she trusted them enough to believe they would get her home.

It had been a very strange night. And she knew she didn’t understand half of what had happened. But what really nagged at her was the sense that she had missed something huge in that apartment. She didn’t blame them for not outright telling her, like Romeo had, but the itching in the back of her mind that told her she’d missed something right in front of her was irritating. But it was also what made her a good reporter.

When Race brought the car to a stop in front of her building and she said her goodbyes, she knew she’d missed something. But she also knew she was closer to figuring out just what it was.

They hadn’t hit a single red light the entire drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit early, but I'm going to be driving for the next two days and I didn't want to post it late.
> 
> Anyway, I'm trying not to outright state anyone's powers, especially when it's Katherine or Davey's narration, because they don't actually know anyone's powers yet. So, I'd love to hear what you all think their powers are, and don't worry, they will be getting clearer (in the case of Jack and Race, especially) in coming chapters.
> 
> (Edited 2/9/19, because I forgot I wanted Jack to be bilingual and that needs to have consistency. No plot points have been changed.)


	4. Do You Feel Lucky?

Race laughed as Mush chased Albert around the tables, the red-headed boy ducking around their friends to try and keep the other boy’s phone out of his reach. Race had lost track of why Albert had taken it, he thought it had something to do with embarrassing pictures, but if that was true, he didn’t know why Al was trying so hard. Or why Mush was. Mush had little shame, and most of his embarrassing moments happened with at least two of the others nearby, cameras ready. The perks of having five roommates. The time he’d slept through Mike and Jojo shaving one of his eyebrows off, so they could stage a joke about his hair not being fireproof on Snapchat, was still Mush’s contact photo in Race’s phone. Maybe the pictures were of Albert…

He took a drink of his water, shooting a glance at Jack a few tables over. That probably had something to do with the boys’ restless energy, actually. It wasn’t often Jack told them all to be somewhere, and even less often that he didn’t tell them why. His text in the group chat had been short and to the point, sent just after Race, Specs, and Katherine had left the apartment the night before, telling them all to be at Jacobi’s that afternoon, in between everyone’s classes and work.

Except they were all here and Jack hadn’t said a thing.

Combine that weirdness with Romeo still not talking to Jack and Race couldn’t really blame the boys for trying to ignore the tension with their antics.

Albert had successfully gotten Finch and Smalls involved in the game of keep-away—Ike had joined in to help Mush against the slimming odds—when someone dropped a bookbag into the chair next to Race. He turned to see Davey laughing quietly at the scene before him, shaking his head as he followed the path of his bag and sank down into the chair. Race quickly switched out the cigarette he’d been fiddling with for his lucky coin. Davey hadn’t _said_ anything about the smoking, but he got this look Race didn’t want to be on the receiving end of.

He had to admit, he’d been surprised when Davey, still David at that point, had shown up at Jacobi’s that first time, the day after he and Crutchie had invited him. Surprised, but not disappointed. When he and Crutchie had greeted Davey happily, the rest of the boys had been quick to absorb him into their dynamic. It had probably helped that it had just so happened to be one of the few days where Jack was the last to arrive.

Race hadn’t been banking on that at all, of course.

To say Jack had been surprised to see Davey sitting in a booth in Jacobi’s laughing at Mike and Specs’ retelling of The Worst Professor Ever™ would be an understatement. The “deer in headlights” metaphor would have been closer to the truth. Race was pretty sure Jack would have turned around and left the deli if he hadn’t been seen by the man himself.

Davey had walked up to Jack, calm as you please, and stuck out his hand.

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself before you ran off yesterday”—a lie, Davey had introduced himself at the beginning of his spiel, but it was good to know he’d realized Jack hadn’t been listening—"I’m David. And your friends say you’re not as rude as your first impression.”

And Jack had shook his hand, that deer-in-headlights look still on his face and said, “Nice ta meetcha, Davey,” almost on rote.

And that had been that. David had become Davey unanimously and irreversibly, and he hadn’t brought up anything more about Jack’s refusal to support his cause. And he’d come back every day since, if the group gossip was to be believed. Race himself hadn’t seen Davey since Tuesday, not having had much time to relax in between work and school and manning the getaway car. He really needed to do something about that.

Jack had looked like he’d been hit in the face with one of those cartoon hammers for the rest of that first afternoon, though. And if you believed the group gossip, which you should unless it was being spread by Henry, whenever Davey joined the boys who had claimed tables at Jacobi’s that day, Jack tended to be close behind.

“What’s all that about?” Davey asked, pulling Race back to the present, where Ike had jumped on Finch’s back, trying to grab the phone from where Finch was managing to hold it just out of reach.

Race laughed, watching Smalls as they tried to pry Ike off of Finch. They were all going to topple at that rate. “It _was_ somethin’ about Al wantin’ ta see some embarrassing photos on Mush’s phone, but I think it’s a matter of pride now.”

“No, I mean, yes, that too, but. Why are they so antsy? What’s going on?” Davey turned a concerned face on Race.

Race bit his lip and glanced around, considering what to tell Davey. He could always lie. That’d be easy. He had a lot of practice, but.

They were sitting at the outside tables at Jacobi’s for once, and there was no one around. The grey clouds overhead heralded rain, and the rest of the students who had flocked to Jacobi’s had sought shelter inside. But Race had had a good feeling about it and had managed to convince the rest of the boys to stay outside. It hadn’t rained yet, and he didn’t think it was going to.

He flipped his coin, catching it on the top of his fist before flipping it again. Davey looked at him patiently, waiting for an answer.

Yes, Race decided, he had a good feeling about this, too.

He turned back to Davey, “S’a bit of a long story, but if you wanna know…” He trailed off, waiting for Davey to nod. When he did Race looked back at the boys. His attention caught on those not actively involved in the chaos, who had taking to egging the others on and placing bets on the outcome. He held a finger up, telling Davey to wait. “I got ten on Ike,” He yelled into the mess, laughing when a stream of protests rang out, Race was well known not to lose bets very often. “I got a good feeling,” he said conspiratorially to Davey with a grin.

“Race,” Davey prodded, clearly getting anxious to know what was going on, now that Race had told him there was something to know.

“Alright, alright,” he gave in, raising his hands in mock surrender, giving up on trying to get his wager counted. “This is gonna get real weird, real quick, so I’d save any freak outs till the end if I was you.”

Davey smiled, “I don’t freak out easy, Race.”

“If you says so.” Race took a breath, “They’s ansty ‘cause Jack told us all ta be here, cause he wants ta tell ‘em about somethin’ that happened last night, and he ain’t said nothin’ yet. And to answer your next question, he’s poutin’ because they gotta know, it’s pretty damn relevant ta all a us, but Jack don’t want them doin’ anything stupid once they find out.”

“That wasn’t vague at all, thank you, Race,” Davey deadpanned.

Race brushed it off with a grin before pointing back at their friends. It was fun to play with Davey, but if he was going to tell him the truth, he might as well start before he frustrated him too much. “Alright, I’ll give ya some context. Take them fightin’ over there.” Davey nodded. “So, if we wasn’t out in public, that whole thing would look real different.”

“Different how?” Davey asked when Race didn’t continue.

Race chuckled, it was such a simple question, and yet, there would be no going back from this. Good. “For starters, Finch’d be flyin’ as high up as the ceiling would let ‘im go.”

He turned back to Davey to gauge the man’s reaction. “Go on,” Davey said evenly, his face a neutral mask.

Race flashed a smile before turning back to the boys, debating how to continue. “Only one who could get the phone from him up there’s Tommy Boy, but it’s tricky. All about timing. He likes ta act all cool and calm, but he’s hit the ground before, tryin’ that.

“Now if that worked and _Ike_ had got the phone from him, he’d’a gone off with it faster‘n any a them could catch ‘im. And if he’d got Mike involved, all bets’re off. Least when it’s just one a ‘em they’re still slow enough ta corner if ya do it right.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Race winced. “Just trust me, ya only make that mistake once.”

“Anything else?”

He considered, looking around the boys, deciding who to bring in next. His eyes landed on Mush, who was trying to work his way through their sprawling friends to get around Finch, Ike, and Smalls. “Well, okay, so Mush probably wouldn’t be doin’ nothing different. He don’t like hurtin’ his friends, and also the last time he tried anythin’ fancy inside he lit the curtain’s on fire at Elmer, Tommy Boy, and Spot’s place.”

Davey’s eyes went wide.

Race waved off his concern before he could go too far down that particular path. “Nah, don’t worry. We put it out, and like I said, he’s got it under control.”

“That’s…” Davey trailed off and coughed into his hand, sneaking another glance at Mush. “That’s an impressive amount of restraint.”

“Yeah,” Race nodded, then paused. “Blink don’t got the same problem, though. If this got really outta hand, and they was upsetting Mush instead a just messin’ with him, Blink’d just blind whoever had the phone so Mush could take it back. End of fun.”

That got another surprised look out of Davey. “Handy,” he said, amazement starting to bleed into his voice. Yeah, Race had made the right call. His friends’ powers were freaking impressive, and he was glad to see that Davey agreed.

Race snorted, trying to cover any amazement in his own voice. It was one thing for Davey to think they were amazing, it was another to let on that Race did, too. He had a reputation to uphold. “A real dick move, is what it is. Just wait, first time you can’t see nothin’ in broad daylight because it’s _dark just around you_ , you’s gonna be pissed, too.”

Davey laughed, “I guess I just won’t piss off Blink, then.”

Race nodded approvingly, “A good plan.”

“And what about Albert, what would he be doing?”

Race waved a hand dismissingly, “Oh prob’ly the same. His power’s no fun. Takes too long to figure out.” Race would know, having spent many an afternoon analyzing Albert’s dreams with him. “He’s scrappy though, I wouldn’t underestimate him,” he added.

Davey shook his head, “No, I wouldn’t. Tell me more.”

“Alright, so,” Race leaned forward, spurred on by his captivated audience. “Crutchie ain’t getting involved ‘less someone starts gettin’ real upset, since that always grates on Crutch’s senses. And there’s pretty much no chance of Romeo or Elmer really doing anythin’ fancy if they got in on it. Romeo feels guilty persuadin’ his friends, and Elmer don’t like using his power on anybody, really.”

“What do you mean?” Davey asked.

Race shrugged. “He doesn’t like turnin’ their force back on ‘em. I mean, I’ve seen someone ram into him on purpose, knocked him straight to the ground and Elmer just got up and kept walking. Ended up usin’ it ta jump up a flight a stairs. Just because he could.”

Davey furrowed his brow. “That sounds really…stressful, for both of them.”

Race nodded. “They’re both just too damn good.”

“Alright, well who else would be getting involved?”

“I mean, Sniper might, but she’s not too fun when it’s keep-away either. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s vicious, and I don’t usually bet against her. But she’s a _real_ ringer when someone took your shit and hid it from ya. Can’t really hide something from someone who can see through walls.”

“And is that everybody?”

“No, come on, Davey! We ain’t that boring.” Race scoffed. “Only four a us using our powers for fun? Who do you think we are?”

That startled a genuine laugh out of Davey, who really was taking all this rather well. “Alright, then, who else makes it fun?”

“That’s the spirit,” Race nodded approvingly. Davey rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Now, it really gets interesting if we got Jojo in the mix. Cause once you get the thing to Jojo, and he puts up one a those damn force fields, there’s only two people who can get it back.” Race ticked them off on his fingers, “Tommy Boy, since he can just pop inside the shield, cause its see-through. And Spot. He’s the only person I’ve ever seen break one of Jojo’s shields.”

“Ah yes, your mythical Spot Conlon,” Davey said with a weighted look at Race. “And how often does he make an appearance at these things?”

Race furrowed his brow at Davey’s odd word choice—how was Spot mythical? —but shook his head and continued, “Nah, Spot’s too grown up ta botha with all that. Unless we’re crashing at his apartment.” Besides, when nothing could stop you, you learned to be overly careful with physical force.

They were both quiet for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts, before Davey cleared his throat. “And what about Jack?”

“Ah, you know Jack,” Race waved a hand, playing it off. “When he’s in a good mood he’s as quick to jump in on the jokes as the rest of us.” Davey leveled an unimpressed look at him. Race grinned, unrepentant. “Let’s just say if someone took something from you, and Jack “gets it back” for you,” Race said, adding the air quotes because they mattered, goddammit, they expressed a sarcasm that he could not do with vocals alone. “Don’t trust it. You’ll take it and it’ll vanish, cause it wasn’t never there in the first place. Jack’s real good at making things outta nothin’.”

“And you?” Davey asked, more careful than before. Race could understand that. It was easier to ask someone to reveal other people’s secrets than it was to ask for their own. What Davey didn’t quite get yet—though he was getting there, Race could tell—was that their secrets were as good as Race’s own, and vice-versa.

Race grinned lopsidedly over at Davey. “I’d be placing bets they won’t let me cash in on.”

“Why not?”

“Look at you go, Davey, askin’ all the right questions.” Race flipped his coin, catching it out of the air without looking. “I gotta feeling. Tails.”

Davey’s brow furrowed, looking suddenly confused. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Race suppressed an eye roll. Now he decides to question it. “I told you,” he said “I gotta feeling.” He pushed his hand more insistently at Davey until he looked down at Race’s palm where he was offering the coin. He didn’t have to look to know he’d been right. It was one of those days. Race smiled at Davey’s amazed face.

“It don’t always work out so good for me, but I can usually tell when Lady Luck likes me and when she don’t. And today, she does.”

Davey turned his gaze on the rest of the boys, clearly seeing them in a new light. “So that’s why he was so against getting involved,” he said, almost to himself. Race followed his gaze to see it had landed on Jack.

“He means well. Just can’t always see we can take care a ourselves.”

Davey nodded before standing up, a determined look on his face as he made his way through the boys to sit across from Jack. The other boy looked up in surprise, and not a little panic, at Davey’s arrival.

Race smiled to himself, slipping his lucky coin back in his pocket and sticking his cigarette in his mouth. He was on a roll today.

****

Jack leaned forward in his seat to avoid the swinging arms as Albert ran behind him, closely followed by Mush. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what motives had driven Albert to steal Mush’s phone. He thought he could see Albert typing, so maybe he was trying to send something lewd to someone he shouldn’t from Mush’s phone. Or maybe he was messing with Mush’s Facebook status or something like that.

Jack wasn’t stupid. He knew why they were anxious. He knew he’d made them anxious, telling them all to be here was a guaranteed way of making them think there was something wrong. And that he hadn’t gotten to it and told them anything certainly wasn’t helping anything, either. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Everyone who was going to be here was already here.

Well. That wasn’t quite true. Unlikely as he knew it was, it being a weekday, and Spot’s work schedule being what it was, and Spot being, well Spot, Jack knew part of him was waiting for his foster brother to show up. Which was ridiculous. He already knew Spot’s thoughts on getting involved in the protests and being in any way open that they had powers.

A lot of their friends had lucked out in that department, having powers that weren’t visible, or didn’t have a physical aspect at all. Even powers like Spot’s and Elmer’s were deniable enough, since strength in and of itself wasn’t a red flag.

The vigilante patrols had been Jack’s idea, at first, but Spot had insisted on tagging along with him. Looking back, Jack was glad he had, not just for the support, but because Spot had insisted they do what they could to hide their powers, even in a fight. For Spot, that meant rolling with more punches than he gave out and pulling those that he did. He still had incidents where he didn’t pull them as much as he should. For Jack, it meant a lot of sleight of hand with his illusions, never conjuring something openly, or only doing so with illusions not connected to him. He’d become a big fan of faking police lights and sirens to break a fight up.

When the others who wanted in on the vigilante action had joined in, Jack had followed Spot’s example and warned them to keep their powers or their identities as secret as possible. In most cases, it had worked. Finch rarely dropped out of the sky directly in the middle of a fight, and Mush kept the pyrotechnics to a minimum and never actually in his hands. Blink darkened the environment instead of blinding people directly, and Tommy Boy didn’t make giant obvious jumps in a fight. They compensated by not going out alone, and even with the handicap on their powers, they usually had the advantage. With the exception, of course, of fights with people like the Delancey’s, who also had powers and weren’t afraid to use them.

And Jack was glad it worked, truly, but oh, how he wished it didn’t have to. Maybe that was why he wanted Spot here so badly. Jack had always been the one wanting things he knew he couldn’t have—he still hadn’t gotten to Santa Fe, even with his time off before starting college—and Spot had always been the best at pulling him back to a reasonable place. Better than Crutchie, even. Crutchie was too kind, sometimes, leaving Jack with the idea that maybe, if he just did it right, he could have it. Spot wasn’t like that. Jack couldn’t remember Spot sugar-coating anything in his life.

Jack sighed, dropping his head to the table, the ruckus of the growing fight for the phone kicking up, as Albert called for Finch to “Catch!” and Mush, evidently closing in on Albert, crashed into him and the chairs behind him. Mush, for his part, yelled for Ike to take the phone from Finch. Going by the resulting “Oh shit” from Finch, he was now being chased by the younger twin.

Jack wasn’t an idiot. He knew how he felt, how he really felt about the idea of helping the protests prove foul play. He knew Spot felt the same, under the asshole exterior. What he didn’t know was how he was going to convince his boys that it didn’t matter. That it was in their best interest to just lay low until it all blows over. Because it was too dangerous. Because they didn’t know what they were doing. Because they didn’t know what they were getting into. Because this was so much bigger than them, and they didn’t stand a chance.

Even Jack wasn’t convinced.

He rolled his head, chancing a glance at Romeo a few tables over. The boy wasn’t joining in on the rough-housing, instead slouching angrily in his chair. It seemed, at least, that he’d forgiven Specs for the perceived betrayal even if he hadn’t forgiven Jack, given that the other boy was sitting with him, heckling the fighters. Romeo was right. He’d been a hypocrite, and the rest of the boys would think so, too.

He just didn’t know any other way to keep them _safe_. He didn’t like the other boys going out on patrols any more than he liked the idea of Romeo or Albert going out. The reason he didn’t fight them on it like he fought Romeo was that they had powers that could help them, and in the case of Tommy Boy and Finch, had spent a good part of their life fighting, Finch in the foster system and Tommy Boy in the gym he now taught at. He was standing on shaky enough ground as it was telling Romeo he couldn’t go. He had no viable argument against most of the others going.

It wasn’t like there was a handbook on how to hide your powers as well as keep the entire group of kids hiding powers who depend on you safe _and_ make a difference because the system’s fucked, and even if you have to hide for your safety you can’t just do nothing. Yeah, that wouldn’t fit in a _For Dummies_ title.

But none of that changed the fact that he had to tell them. They’d just find out some other way if he didn’t. And then who knew what they would do. He could try to talk them out of doing anything stupid this way, even if Romeo never forgave him for it. At least then they would be safe. The protests wouldn’t have any proof about conspiracies against them and they’d be stuck fighting the same losing, uphill battle they’d been fighting the last fifteen years. And that was terrible. But the protests had never done anything for Jack or the people he cared about. The only people they could rely on were each other. Jack had known that all his life.

So why did he feel sick at the idea of acting like he didn’t care if they could help the protests finally succeed?

Jack jumped when someone sat down in the seat across from him, and then considered jumping out of his seat properly and leaving when he saw it was Davey. Perfect.

“I understand.”

Jack, admittedly still thrown by his sudden appearance, couldn’t muster up anything more intelligent than, “What?”

“Why you don’t want to get involved in the protests,” Davey continued, undeterred by Jack’s uninspired response. “If you do, and things get serious the way we want them to, it would put you under a microscope. And not just you, them, too.” He gestured at the rest of the boys. Mush had finally gotten his phone back in a skillful toss from Ike and was currently holding it out of Albert’s reach, who was trying to lunge over the knee Mush had in his stomach holding him off as Mush tapped at the screen. Davey turned back to Jack. “You were just protecting your friends.”

“S’my job,” Jack said gruffly. He didn’t have to think too hard to figure out how Davey’d figured it out. Race was watching the two of them with a self-satisfied look on his face. Jack just hoped he knew what he was doing. “M’not gonna let my stupid get them caught. I can’t just take that choice from ‘em.” Jack looked back at the boys, unable to meet Davey’s earnest gaze any longer. It was great that Davey didn’t seem mad they’d hidden this from him, or like he planned on outing them and getting them marked. But he still couldn’t understand, not all of it anyway. He might understand Jack’s need to stay out of the protests to protect his boys, but Jack doubted he’d understand that Jack did patrols and used his powers to protect people for the same reasons. Not that it really mattered. Once they knew about what’d happened last night, and what it could mean, Jack wouldn’t be able to keep them safe from all this.

“I’m not going to ask you to,” Davey assured him.

“Look, Davey,” Jack started, intending to tell him that he was actually about to jump headfirst into all of that stuff Davey might’ve asked him to do and he could really use Davey’s help right now, but the other boy cut him off.

“I’m serious,” Davey insisted, mistaking Jack’s intent completely. “Jack, I understand. I’m not hanging out here because I think I can change your mind. I never was, even when I didn’t know _why_ you wouldn’t help. I’m hanging around because I like you. All of you,” He hurried to add, as if Jack could have possibly thought he didn’t like the rest of the boys, after he’d kept coming back to spend time with them after an offhand invite from two boys he didn’t even know. After Race had trusted him with their secret.

“Davey, that’s great, really. We like you, too,” Jack said, because it needed to be said and Davey deserved to hear it. The boys had adopted him into the fold practically from day one, minus telling him about their powers. Jack just didn’t have time to tell Davey just how much a part of their group he really was. “But here’s the thing, Romeo and Specs got into some shit last night. Everythin’s fine, now,” Jack rushed to assure him when Davey’s eyes went wide in concern. “It’s just,” he sighed. “It changes things. I don’t think we can just keep doin’ what we’ve been doin’. I don’t think they’ll _want_ to, afta this. And I can’t…I can’t let them do that alone.”

“You’re going to tell them.” And that was why Jack liked Davey. The boy was smart as all hell, and somehow, he’d learned to read Jack like a book in the near week they’d known each other. Jack was pretty sure Davey had known they were keeping something from him the whole time. But then, like now, Davey knew not to press.

“They’ll find out sooner or later, anyway. And I want ‘em ta have a choice. And I need them to know I’m on their side, no matta what they do.”

“You’re a really good leader, Jack,” Davey said quietly.

Jack shook his head dismissively, “I ain’t their leader. They just, look up ta me, is all. Got this idea that I got my life together just cause I’m older.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I don’t even know what we should do bout all this. You’re right,” he nodded to Davey, “with everythin’ you all’ve been sayin’ tryin’ ta get support for the protests. It _is_ our fight. But—and I ain’t blamin’ you here—you don’t understand what they’d be riskin’ if they got involved. I don’t think they do, either. And I don’t know how to get them to understand that.”

“You think they don’t understand what they’re risking because they still want to risk it?” Davey asked slowly, like he was trying to work through Jack’s thought process as he spoke.

Jack shrugged, at a loss. “I mean, yeah. Putting their whole lives on the line for a chance that things’ll get better? Even Race wouldn’t bet on those odds.”

“Have I ever told you that powers run in both my parents’ families?” Davey asked, out of the blue. Jack shook his head, unsure where he was going with this. That wasn’t the kind of thing that just came up when you were talking to someone. And they’d only known each other a week, of course Davey had never told him that. “Well, they do. It’s not very common, neither of my parents have powers, and neither do my sister or I, but the chance is always there.”

Jack’s brow furrowed in confusion. There was something missing from what Davey had just said. “Didn’t you say you had a baby brother?”

Davey smiled like Jack had got something right. “Les. He’s only thirteen, almost fourteen.”

“And you don’t know if he’s got powers or not,” Jack finished, realization dawning on him as to what Davey was trying to tell him.

Davey shook his head. “Officially, no one knows until after puberty. That’s what all the standards and tests look at, anyway. And so, we have no idea.”

“Plus, there’s plenty a powers that ain’t obvious,” Jack pointed out, earning another smile from Davey. “If Racer hadn’t known his dad had powers, he never woulda figured his out. And Crutch didn’t know everybody couldn’t feel everyone else’s emotions till he asked his parents how they made it quiet.”

“Exactly.” Davey nodded, still looking at Jack like he’d done something good, something important. God, Davey had probably never told anyone about his brother before. “I’ve never been fighting for myself, but I understand what you and anyone like you risks when they decide to help us. And I think you’re underestimating your boys if you think they don’t also know that.” His smile twisted wryly. “And Sarah and I’ve gotten pretty good at plausible deniability when it comes to questions about metas in the protests. Whatever you decide, whatever they decide, we will have your back. It’s what we do.”

Jack looked at Davey in amazement. “Your sister ain’t even met us,” he said around the lump in his throat.

Davey shook his head, amused at something Jack didn’t understand. “Talk to your boys,” he insisted. “None of you are alone, no matter what you do.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Jack choked out before clearing his throat and looking away, unable to meet the other boy’s eyes anymore. He stood up on his chair and whistled, catching the rest of the groups’ attention. “Alright, knock it off. Get over here, all a you. We gotta talk.” Those playfighting broke apart immediately, confirming Jack’s suspicions that’d he’d left them waiting too long. Quickly they all gathered around his and Davey’s table, some jostling each other for a better place as they dragged chairs over, but all in all the whole process was quiet. No laughter, no taunting, not even any murmuring. Yeah, Jack needed to tell them the truth, before this got any worse. They already knew something was up, probably would have even without Jack telling them all to be here. And letting them sit in anticipation was never a good thing. Things tended to get broken and stupid decisions tended to be made when that happened.

Crutchie sat down in the chair next to Jack and Jack cleared his throat again.

“Alright. I know youse all dyin’ ta know why I told ya to be here, so here it is.” Jack glanced around at the boys. Romeo stood in the back, arms crossed. He looked unimpressed. Jack felt any lingering desire he had to shield the boys from this fade. “Tommy Boy and I had a scrap with the Delancey brothers last night. In Weasel’s place.”

This sparked an uproar as the boys all started shouting over each other. Jack wasn’t overly surprised. They all tended to avoid that area of town on patrols, since it was pretty much common knowledge by now that the Delanceys were just waiting for the chance to turn them in. So far, they’d managed to avoid giving the Delanceys a good look, but most of them tried to stay out of that area of town even when they weren’t on patrol, just in case. All the more so because their uncle, Weasel, was well known for turning in non-marked metas, usually with absurd, and fake, charges that ended them in jail, thanks to their new marked status.

If they were this worked up about this part of the story, Jack wasn’t looking forward to their reactions to the rest of it.

“What the hell were you doin’ there?”

“You think they recognized you?”

Although, he considered, at least they were concerned about the right things.

“ _Oh_ , tell me you got in some good hits.”

He took that back.

“Are you crazy?”

“You did win, right?”

“Alright, alright! Quiet down. We was there because the Delanceys were beating on some folks who broke into the place, looking for information about shady business. This reporter lady got in her head that if she could prove it, she could write about it and help the protests. And Romeo got it in his head ta help her.” This set the boys off again, as they all turned to Romeo in shock. They were all well aware that Jack didn’t want Romeo on patrols. It had been an ongoing argument, everyone had witnessed part of it at some point. Some of the boys were clapping Romeo on the back, others were looking warily between the two of them. Davey absorbed this information in silence, looking less surprised than Jack had expected, given that he didn’t think Davey had known about the patrols before this.

Jack cleared his throat and continued, steadily looking anywhere but at Romeo. “S’a good thing he brought Specs with ‘im and he knew to tell us where they was gonna be. Else I don’t know what woulda happened. But yeah, Delanceys got a pretty good look at all a us. The reporter, too.” He paused. Katherine had talked about “not getting their hopes up” when she’d talked about her article, from what he could hear from the bathroom. He turned to Davey. The rest of the boys looked on, silent in the face of all the information. Maybe the gravity of the situation was finally setting in. Romeo’s arms were still crossed, but he looked less hostile. “Davey, you might know her, if she was gettin’ mixed up in the protests. Red hair, kinda frustratingly persistent? Name’s Plumber—”

Davey cut him off, nodding. “Katherine. We knew she was writing an article, but I swear we had no idea she was going to go investigating like this. Or get you all involved.”

“Not your fault, Davey,” Jack reassured him. “But that’s the deal, boys. The Delanceys saw us, and—”

“Pretty sure you said my name while we was there,” Tommy Boy chimed in. “Romeo’s, too.”

Jack sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I get it. Last night wasn’t a shinin’ moment for any a us. _Point_ is, Delanceys saw us, and I wouldn’t put it past Weasel to find us sooner or later. Or figure out why we were there. Or what Romeo, Specs, and Katherine were lookin’ for. So you needs ta be careful. More’n you been. Lay low, all a youse. Just ‘till I can take care a this.”

Romeo finally uncrossed his arms at that, throwing them in the air instead. “Why can’t you get this, Jack? You put yourself in danger for us all the time, why’s it so hard for you ta let us have your back, too? Or ain’t we a family?”

“Yeah, Jack, you don’t really think we’s gonna letcha deal wit this all on your own?” Race chimed in around a smirk. The other boys started nodding.

“What happened to rule two of patrols, huh? You don’t go out alone,” Blink insisted, giving Jack a no-nonsense look that he must have learned from Spot. The eyepatch actually made it more intimidating. Jack was—He wasn’t surprised they wanted to be involved, he’d put off telling them as long as he had because he was worried about just that happening. What did surprise him, though, was that that wasn’t what they were focusing on. They were focusing on _him_. When they should be worrying about themselves.

“Yeah,” Mush added. “Like hell you’s doing this alone.” Jack didn’t have the time to argue why it made perfect sense to him, actually, that he did this alone before someone else piped up, echoing Mush’s sentiment. This had gotten out of his control so quickly.

“Don’t we get a say if we want ta do somethin’ besides just wait for Weasel and the Delanceys ta close in?” Tommy Boy’s question opened the floodgates, and pretty soon they were all talking over each other, trying to propose the next plan for what they should do about the Delanceys. Davey smiled up at Jack, a laugh on his lips at the targeted chaos.

“Jack,” Finch cut in. Maybe it was the calmness with which he said it, maybe it was the fact that Jack had felt his eyes on him even before he spoke, but Jack heard his voice in spite of all the shouting around them. He turned to meet the other boy’s eyes. “We know how to look out for ourselves. And we know how to take care of each other. We been doing it our entire lives.”

Jack studied Finch, disproportionately struck by his words over any of the others’. Someone shouted about sticking one to the Delanceys to make it clear they weren’t messing around, Davey jumped in to insist that they couldn’t do that. Jack was glad, it felt wrong to take his attention away from what Finch was telling him. Really telling him, behind his words.

Jack knew his boys, he knew what they’d been through, and how they’d hidden themselves through all of that. So, he knew where Finch was coming from, and that was exactly what gave him pause to hear him say what he did. Because Finch, of all his boys, probably understood the best where Jack was coming from. Maybe even better than Jack did. Because while Jack had gone through two less-than-homey foster homes, paranoid about being discovered and starting fights to avoid that before he’d ended up with Medda, he knew it wasn’t always like that. He knew that for Finch it wasn’t like that. That where Jack had found a support system and brothers who knew, really _knew_ , exactly what Jack was going through, Finch hadn’t. Finch had been shipped between foster homes until he turned eighteen and had basically been kicked out into the world without a support system. His only constant had been Jojo, and vice-versa, but even that hadn’t been very constant for either of them until they’d left the system and found each other again.

Finch had grown up with the same fear as Jack had, he had the same reasons to want to stay as far away from this as possible, and yet here he was telling Jack that they could do it with such conviction it was clear he was also saying that they _should_ do it.

It wasn’t that Jack wasn’t angry that the world they lived in had told his boys, his _family_ , from day one that they were worth less than other people. That they had all lived with the fear of discovery for most of their lives and seen just how bad that discovery could be when it happened to the people they loved. Because he was. He was so unspeakably angry. And looking at Finch now, Jack knew he was angry that this had happened to his people, too. That they all were, they were just waiting to hear they could do something about it. How had he not seen that before?

Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to.

Albert was gesturing wildly to accompany his dramatic predictions for how this was going to go, accompanied with appropriate ridiculousness and references to visions, the meanings of which he likely hadn’t figured out yet. Finch’s arm was resting on the back of Albert’s chair, his hand brushing Albert’s side as the other boy twisted to argue his point with Henry. The weight of Finch’s arm was probably the only thing keeping the chair steady in the face of Albert’s near constant motion. And despite all the chaos around them, Finch kept his eyes on Jack, waiting for his response like he knew Jack’s thoughts were spinning, dizzying him with what he wanted to do and what he wanted for his boys and the way he couldn’t really think of any other good way to have all of either of those things.

The rest of the boys didn’t seem to notice Finch’s words, but Jack nodded to him, acknowledging the truth in them. And the truth in what he didn’t say. He just hoped this wasn’t a mistake, no matter how much it felt like something they needed to do. That _he_ needed to do.

“I mean, I think I made it real clear what I was gonna do last night, but,” Specs tossed in when Albert paused for breath, a self-satisfied grin on his face as the others shoved at him, grumbling that he’d gotten a head start. “I’m down to bring them down a peg.”

“Well would you look at that,” a new voice chimed in. All of them turned, some of the boys almost falling over in their haste, to see Katherine standing at the edge of Jacobi’s outdoor patio. She had a contemplative smile on her face, but she was also clutching a notebook with a white-knuckled grip. “Looks like you’ve got quite the team here.” She glanced around at the excited group, frozen in their places as they stared at this unknown person.

Jack rolled his eyes internally. Sure, now they were worried about being caught out. “Everybody who don’t know, this is Katherine. If you’da let me talk, instead a jumping the gun planning ta ambush the Delanceys, you’d know that.”

None of them looked even the slightest bit abashed at his attempt at a reprimand. Jack sighed and gestured Katherine over, while the boys went back to planning amongst themselves. They weren’t as quiet as they should have been, but looking down the street, it was pretty much deserted, so Jack let them be.

“Sorry we got started without ya. Didn’t think the boys could wait any longer,” Jack apologized as Katherine picked her way through the tangled mess of people surrounding Jack’s table.

“That’s perfectly fine, I—" Katherine stopped when she reached the table, staring in surprise to Jack’s right. He turned and realized Davey was still there, although Crutchie had moved on to talk excitedly with Sniper and Smalls about what the protests were doing. “Davey.”

“Hi, Katherine,” he said with a smile. Jack didn’t miss the way her shoulders relaxed a fraction at that. “I have to say, we weren’t expecting an investigative article, but if you’ve found what Jack says, Sarah and I will be happy to help you, all of you,” he added, turning briefly to Jack, “however we can. They’ve never fought fair, maybe it’s time we give them a taste of how much we can do when we don’t, either.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jack said, already thinking. No one knew they were planning this. Weasel had no reason to be on guard, except the break in, and that would die down quickly. There was that upside, at least.

“So do I,” Katherine agreed, a considering smile growing on her face as the murmured planning kicked up a notch, the rest of the boys hearing that they would be fighting dirty. “And I think, so do the rest of them.”

Davey laughed, following her gaze to the rest of the boys, “So we’re in good company then.”

“Davey,” Jack said slowly, as he realized something. “What is it, exactly, we’s gonna be doing?”

“Well, from our end—” Davey started before Blink’s shout cut him off.

“We’re topplin’ the system, ain’t you listenin’, Jack?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Katherine cut in reasonably, unperturbed by the displeasure that greeted her words.

“She’s right,” Davey nodded, taking over. Jack sat back, content to let them attempt to rein the others in. “We need to figure out how their operation works and expose it.”

“I want in on that,” Specs called out.

Katherine smiled in his direction. “I was hoping you might.”

“Me too,” Romeo added, directing a challenging look at Jack. Jack bit back his initial desire to tell Romeo he couldn’t do that, instead nodding slowly. Romeo looked satisfied at that, at least.

That started a general sound off as the others who wanted in on the action offered their help. Jack would have liked to say he was surprised by how many of them wanted in on this part, but he knew the opportunity to stick one to the Delanceys was very enticing.

“Hold on, hold on!” Davey cut in, raising his voice to be heard over everyone. “There’s a lot more we have to do if we want anything to change.”

“Like what?” Jack asked, eager to get everyone a job and a plan of action. Less unknown variables to worry about that way. And maybe less of them going up against the Delancey’s directly.

“For starters, Sarah and I have been talking about setting up a website for the protests. You know, somewhere to reach more people, and make our goals more accessible. Plus, it would go a long way to combatting rumors spread on the news. Sorry,” Davey directed this last part at Katherine, who waved it off without concern. Jack supposed she was trying to be anything but that, anyway, or she wouldn’t be there.

Jack looked around, gauging who would be best for that job. Everyone was notably quiet about volunteering for this. His eyes settled on the person standing next to Henry, chin just above his head where he was seated. “Alright, Smalls, you good to work on that?” They nodded. Jack turned back to Davey. “That good with you?”

“Yeah, any way you all want to help, honestly. I know my side of things isn’t the exciting vigilante action I’m sure you were hoping for,” he said apologetically to Smalls.

They laughed, “Nah, man, I’m good not doing that junk. Not all of us without powers are as crazy as Specs over there.” Specs’ offended shout followed their declaration, along with general jostling of the boy in question.

“I’m down for that side a things, too,” Henry chimed in. Davey nodded in thanks and that finally sparked the other boys’ offers to help. Jack was unsurprised to see Crutchie, Buttons, and Elmer all offer to help. Elmer really did hate a fight, but the boy loved people almost as much as people tended to love him. Jack was just relieved that it looked like most everyone without powers was content to stay out of the thick of it. He’d long given up trying to keep Specs out of it.

“What else ya got?” He asked, doing a mental tally in his head of who still didn’t have a job.

“What about the metahumans disappearing off the streets?” Katherine added, shooting Davey a significant look.

Davey nodded reluctantly. “Yes, that, too. Even though we don’t know anything for sure about what’s happening.”

Katherine shrugged, “No harm in investigating, then.”

“We can look into that on patrols,” Jack decided, thinking over the places he’d heard rumors of this happening. He’d dismissed them at the time, but maybe he shouldn’t have.

He rolled his eyes at Mush’s surprised look. “What? Ya didn’t think I was gonna forget about patrols, did ya?”

Mush shrugged. “Weirder things’ve happened, boss.”

“Anyway,” Jack continued, ignoring that for the time being, “we keep up patrols—that means _all of_ youse—and that’ll be good to figure if we need ta be worried about this, too.”

“Let me help with that,” Albert said—more like demanded—tilting his chin up like he expected Jack to tell him no. Jack supposed that was fair, since he was going to.

“Al you ain’t never done a patrol—”

“Well if we’re all gonna be doin’ this, maybe they should get some training at least,” Tommy Boy offered, cutting Jack off. “I’ll see if I can get my boss ta let me use the gym after hours.”

“I want to help to,” Crutchie spoke up. “We don’t have to be going on patrols,” he cut Jack off before he could start. “There’re other sides ta this, but if people’re getting taken from the streets, I _need_ to help.”

Albert nodded emphatically in agreement with Crutchie.

Jack sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “Fine. But Tommy Boy’s right. Any of youse planning on doin’ _anything_ that could end in a fight, I’m making training required. You gotta be prepared. And that includes you, Race.”

Davey nodded, ignoring Race’s protests, “That seems like a good plan. And whatever happens, we’ll be ready to tackle it.”

Jack looked at the other boy for a moment as the rest of the group ran off on their own tangents again, dragging Katherine in to include her in the chaos. “I hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late!! The chapter title just didn't want to happen, and then I've been slowly unpacking in my new house and things just got away from me. Hopefully the slightly longer chapter makes up for it?
> 
> But yeah, as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated, I love knowing if you guys are enjoying this and I'm thrilled to talk about it anytime.


	5. The Rule of Siblings

“Don’t worry, Miss Medda, s’just us,” Jack called as he and Crutchie entered the apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. He led the way into the cozy living room, dropping the bag of costumes Buttons had repaired on the couch.

Medda rounded the corner from the kitchen, hands on her hips and a smile on her face. “And did you think you could get by me without giving me a hug?” She raised an eyebrow at them.

Jack affected a put-upon expression. “Oh, alright. If I gotta.” He crossed the room to hug Medda, his smile breaking through his façade halfway there. He’d never been able to pretend he didn’t love his foster mom.

Medda hummed, an affectionate sound, as she squeezed him tight like she hadn’t seen him just the other day at the theater, before letting go and turning to give Crutchie the same treatment. Him, at least, Jack thought she hadn’t seen in person since the last Found Family Dinner Night (patent pending). Elmer and Albert had come up with the name after being told that, no, they couldn’t just pop in. It was, in Medda’s words—which Jack regrets repeating to them—only foster sons and future in-laws allowed. Needless to say, it had been a four-person dinner since forever.

Given the level of bullshittery Spot and Race were reaching though, Jack wouldn’t be surprised if Crutchie pulled some dramatic stunt to try and force their hands. If it were Jack, he’d invite Race here with the insistence that Spot needed him there, gloss over the foster sons or their future spouses rule, and then when Medda inevitably asked, Race would tell her he was there for Spot and then they’d have no choice but to address the fact that they wanted that.

Okay, maybe Jack had thought about it a few times, too.

“Your brother’s already in the kitchen, Jack,” Medda said over Crutchie’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go help him out?”

“Uh, no,” came Spot’s voice from the kitchen. “Not happening.”

“Oh, come on Spotty,” Jack cajoled, entering the kitchen just to mess with Spot’s too-short hair. The other boy swatted him away, not looking away from the creamy sauce he was stirring on the stovetop. “You don’t want my help?”

Spot scowled, “You stay outta my kitchen, Cowboy.”

“Oh, your kitchen, is it Spot?” Medda asked from behind them. She and Crutchie were standing just inside the doorway, looking on with amused expressions.

“Stay outta Medda’s kitchen, Cowboy,” Spot corrected smoothly. “I don’t want no burned water, _again_.”

“One time!” Jack insisted, pointing a finger in Spot’s face. This, too, was swatted away as Spot turned back to shrug at Medda and shake his head despairingly, like Jack was being the unreasonable one here.

“Yeah, it was just the one time, Spot,” Crutchie chimed in, finally making his way fully into the kitchen, with Medda close behind. With the four of them in the kitchen at once, all grown adults, space was a bit tight. There was little chance of moving around the table that doubled as an island without knocking into someone else. Jack loved it.

“Thank you!” Jack reached over the corner of said table to wrap an arm around Crutchie’s shoulders. “At least someone in this family believes in me.”

“Of course,” Crutchie started, and Jack dropped his arm, knowing what that tone meant for him. “He also set the toaster on fire _one time_. And forgot to take off the plastic film on a frozen dinner before he put it in the oven, _one time_. Not to mention the rice cooker incident.”

“¡Ay, por favor!” Jack groaned, stretching out the last word as he threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Those happened ages ago, can’t we just forget about ‘em?”

Crutchie raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Jack’s dramatics. “Cilantro and parsley are different plants, Jack.”

Jack clutched his chest and staggered a half step back to lean against the counter. “Traitors. I am surrounded by traitors.”

Spot smirked, “Ain’t turnin’ on ya if it’s true, Jacky boy.”

Jack reached over and shoved at his brother’s head, then made a move for a taste of the sauce, just because he knew it would piss Spot off. Sure enough, he got a smack on the hand with the spoon for his trouble. Joke was on Spot though, now Jack had plenty of alfredo to taste. He grinned at the other boy and ate some of the sauce off his hand. “This is real good, thanks, Spotty. Where’d ya learn to make this from scratch? Seems real fancy.”

Spot turned away from Jack with a roll of his eyes. “Race showed me,” he said, eyes on the sauce. “Says buying it’s a crime, or somethin’.”

Jack fought against his widening grin. It looked like he was going to get started with teasing his little brother earlier than normal. Spot’s cluelessness really did make it too easy. “Oh really? Real nice of him, ta care about you eatin’ good food and all.” Jack raised his eyebrows significantly, though only Crutchie and Medda saw. Crutchie snorted behind his hand.

Spot gave both of them a confused look. “Well, yeah, Jack,” he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a particularly dense child. “Racer’s Italian. He says if youse gonna eat it you need ta eat it right.”

Spot glanced pointedly between Jack’s hand and his face. Jack stared defiantly back and made a show of lifting his hand back to his mouth and licking the remaining sauce off.

His action prompted a chorus of disgusted noises from both his brothers, which just made Jack laugh. Sure, he was a mess in the kitchen with most things, except coffee, real hot chocolate, and occasionally arroz con leche. He’d had a few careless mishaps, but every three out of four times was a pretty damn good success rate for him. But he was also much more willing to eat literally anything than either Spot or Crutchie were. He’d once scraped apple crumble Medda had bought for some holiday or other off the table when it fell from his fork and he could have sworn Crutchie was going to have an aneurism. Spot had just closed his eyes in defeat.

“Now, now, if you’re not going to behave.” Medda leveled each of them with a stern look, but they all knew well enough to look for the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, never quite successfully hidden. “Jack, honey, why don’t you set the table while the rest of us finish up in here.”

“I’da done it anyway if ya just asked,” Jack grumbled, gathering the plates and silverware from their various places. “Was it necessary ta mock my cooking, too?”

“Yes,” Medda called after him as he left the kitchen, their laughter following him out.

Sometimes Jack hated his family. He smiled to himself. But also, no, not really.

Sitting down to family dinner at Medda’s every week was one of Jack’s favorite things. Jack always seemed to end up with people in his life who liked to tease him, at this point it was strange when someone didn’t. But at least with those people, Jack always knew he could tease back. And family dinner, well, family dinner was a free for all, just by virtue of having all four of them in a room together.

The downside of family dinner, Jack mused as he laid out the silverware, was that his mother had an unnatural talent for asking about their lives in a way that they couldn’t lie to. And, well, today Jack had some real serious news to share. Medda placed a hand on Jack’s back as she passed behind him on her way from the kitchen holding a bowl of bread to put on the table. Jack smiled over his shoulder at her.

They were about halfway through the chicken alfredo Spot had made when Jack’s news finally came up. Medda had already asked about school and work, and of course how things were going in their respective apartments. All that was left was her questions about their love lives, which Jack had hoped would come up before he had to share about the protests, but oh well. He was sure it would come up later anyway.

The thing was, Medda had a pattern. Every family dinner, she asked each of them about how school was or what was going on at work, if everything was alright in their living situations, and when they were going to bring someone to these dinners. Jack, Crutchie, and Spot had all learned how to predict her questions, though none of them had managed to get away with not answering one. She had good reason to ask, too.

With school and work, Jack knew she was just being a mom, wanting to make sure they weren’t overworking themselves and were happy. Or, well, she wanted to make sure Crutchie wasn’t overworking himself with his overload of classes and his job, and that Jack was still happy enough to keep going to school. Jack always tried to make sure he successfully assured her he was, because this was what she’d wanted for him, even if he didn’t quite see the point in it for himself. Crutchie, for his part, did his best to brush off how busy he was. Unfortunately, for someone who should be really keyed in to how emotions look and how to not show them, Crutchie wasn’t a very good liar. Spot, not being in school anymore, tended to jump in with stories from the garage when it seemed like Medda was going to try, again, to convince them to slow down a bit and enjoy. His work stories always bought them a good fifteen minutes safe from their mother’s probing questions, usually enough for the whole conversation to move onto a new topic.

It was the questions about the apartments where Medda really got going with her share of teasing for the evening. She knew full well whenever something went wrong in either of the apartments; they all texted or called her constantly. She just liked to bring it up with this twinkle in her eye and a stress on phrasing that made it clear she was asking because of what had happened in their respective first weeks in their apartments. She would never let them live it down.

All in all, Jack had thought their first weeks living alone had gone pretty well. When you stick three college aged boys who had never lived together in an apartment, in the case of Spot, Tommy Boy, and Elmer, or who had never lived outside their family’s home or the dorms, in the case of Jack, Crutchie, and Romeo, things were bound to go wrong. It could have been so much worse.

Yes, Spot had been hiding out at Medda’s for the most part of his first week, sprawling dramatically on the couch asking the universe what to do, but it could have been worse. He could have never done anything to fix the fact that he’d snapped at Elmer and hurt his feelings and caused Tommy Boy and Race to give him the silent treatment. But he did, and they were great now.

And yes, Jack, Crutchie, and Romeo had been sorely lacking in proper flatware and keeping their pantries stoked with good food. That could have been worse, too. At least Jack had been eating, even if he’d been reduced to drinking his cereal from a pot because Romeo had already used the mug to heat cold soup in the microwave and Crutchie had taken the only bowl to make popcorn. It really could have been worse.

Nothing like either of those events had ever happened again, not after Medda’s involvement, but every week she asked, like she was suspicious her sons had somehow been living in disaster for the past week without telling her.

“Okay, if you’re sure everything’s fine over there…” Medda let her sentence trail off, looking slyly at Crutchie, while Jack and Spot rolled their eyes.

“ _Yes_ , Ma, I swear. Everythin’s fine,” Crutchie insisted.

“We even have fruit in the fridge,” Jack added. It was a single orange, but it counted. Spot raised an eyebrow at that. Jack stared back at him, trying not to give anything away.

Suddenly Spot grinned. “S’like one fruit, isn’t it?”

“Okay, one fruit’s a whole lot better’n two eggs, and some beers,” Crutchie cut in, playing up his offense on their behalf.

“Don’t forget the weird juice none of us remembered buyin’,” Jack added, just to see Spot’s reaction. They really weren’t that bad, he just liked to make it sound as bad as possible to freak Spot out. Medda was never really worried, she really did know most everything that happened in their apartments, but Spot was so easy to work up about things like this. It had really just been some juice Blink had left in their fridge after a “bring your own drink” movie night.

Jack would never have guessed that Blink, of all people, liked fruity mixed drinks enough to make his own. Not that there was anything wrong with fruity drinks or anything, Jack just couldn’t imagine liking any mixed drink enough to make his own. But then, he didn’t live with a bartender, maybe Blink wasn’t making his own.

He was pulled back to the present when Crutchie spoke over whatever response Spot was trying to stutter to Jack’s statement. “Just cause you think you got your life together, Spot, and we don’t…” Crutchie grumbled, trailing off.

“Hey, now, that’s not true, Crutchie.” Medda cut in. Jack smiled, smelling the set-up of a joke and picking up his cue.

“Yeah, Crutch, least no one in our place has broke their cabinet doors. Repeatedly.”

Spot rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “You try having super strength, Cowboy.”

“I’m just waitin’ for the day you break your fridge tryin’ ta get a midnight snack,” Jack teased back.

“Okay, boys,” Medda cut in smoothly before Spot could muster a reply to that. Crutchie snickered. “What else have you been up to, besides causing chaos?”

Jack could see the look in her eye, knew she was about to start asking about dates and if they’d “met any nice girls or boys”, and he was ready to let her, content to not have to bring up the protests. Crutchie, evidently picking up on that, elbowed him under the table. Jack winced.

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell her,” he stage-whispered to Crutchie.

Medda raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “Tell me what, Jack?”

“Well, ya see, Miss Medda,” Jack started, scratching his head and avoiding looking at Spot. “Uh, I met this guy the other day.” Jack winced as he realized how that probably sounded, judging by the way Medda’s face lit up in interest. He hurried past that part, hoping to avoid letting her down too much. “He’s kinda in charge a the protests. And we, uh, the boys and me, we decided to help ‘em out, ya know, with things they can’t exactly do.”

He snapped his mouth shut in the tense silence that followed his declaration, looking down at the table. Crutchie elbowed Jack again, softer this time, prompting him to look up. Medda was smiling softly at him from across the table.

“I take it you mean using your powers to help them?” She asked kindly, smile never wavering. Jack nodded, throat tight. “I’m very proud of you, then. That’s very brave of you to do. All of you.” She turned to smile at Crutchie as well.

Jack felt like his strings had been cut as he relaxed again, slumping again into his chair. As much as he’d needed Spot’s approval—and he still couldn’t look at his brother—he hadn’t realized he’d needed to hear Medda say it was a good idea just as much.

“It’s our fight, ain’t it? Can’t let them keep fightin’ it for us.”

“Are you insane?” Spot hissed across the table, finally chiming into the conversation, leaning forward to glare at Jack. “That could put us at serious risk if anyone connects you—” he cut off, glancing at Medda. This was why Jack had waited until family dinner to tell Spot. Whatever problems he had with this, he couldn’t talk about how it would impact their patrolling because none of them had ever told Medda that they did that. Jack was just hoping that was his only real argument, because Jack had a plan for that, even if he was dreading going through with it. Spot shook his head, making a frustrated sound. “If anyone pays too much attention to ya, it’ll come back ta bite us all in the ass.”

“No one’s gonna be paying no attention to me, Spot, I got it under control.” Jack said reassuringly. He really, kind of worryingly, wanted Spot to say he supported this. That he’d help them. A glance sideways at Crutchie said he wanted that, too, so at least Jack wasn’t delusional. But he also saw from Crutchie’s expression that he wasn’t succeeding in convincing their brother.

“How can you possibly have this under control?” Spot asked incredulously.

“Spot, if your brother says he has it under control, you need to trust that he does,” Medda said sternly. “Jack has been just as careful as you about being discovered. If he and your friends think this is a good idea, it probably is.” Spot leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and looking unconvinced, but unwilling to argue with Medda.

“Really, Spot,” Crutchie added, “it ain’t like they’s asking us ta stand out on the news and tell the world we’s got powers.” He glanced at Jack, judging how much to say. Jack cut his eyes towards Medda, reminding his brother of what they didn’t want to worry her with. “We’s just helping out like anyone else. Plus, they’s our problems, ain’t no one who knows ‘em better’n us.”

“If you says so, Crutch,” Spot relented, sounding skeptical, but still unwilling to push the fight at family dinner. Not in front of Medda. Spot glared at Jack steadily, though, letting him know he hadn’t let this go just yet.

“Well, I still think it’s a wonderful idea,” Medda said, pulling the conversation back to a lighter place. “And I’m so glad to hear that you’re taking a chance with this boy, Jack.”

Jack froze. He’d forgotten about that look in her eyes. He’d walked right into this. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spot starting to smirk, albeit reluctantly. Crutchie was much less reluctant about the gleeful laugh he muffled into his hand.

“Uh, Miss Medda,” he started, not really sure how to talk himself out of this, but knowing he had to try. He needed to get this straight—ha!—on the off chance that Davey ever met Medda.

“No really, Jack,” Medda insisted, “it’s a good thing. Something the two of you should consider following his lead on.” She turned a stern gaze onto Spot and Crutchie. “I want some new faces at these dinners, you know.” Well, that hadn’t been what Jack had been aiming for, but it would work for now.

Crutchie raised his hands, unsubtly but effectively refusing to respond. Just as well, Crutchie, for once, genuinely didn’t have anything to add to this. Jack was almost jealous of him. On the plus side, though, the attention had shifted to Spot, who was sputtering in his seat, sitting straight like he’d been shocked.

Jack must have really distracted him with the announcement about the protests if he hadn’t seen the signs of Medda heading his way earlier. Or if he’d forgotten about them. Spot was usually much better at talking around this issue. Trying to hide a casual relationship with your best friend from the rest of your friends and family would give you that kind of talent.

“Yeah, Spot,” Jack said slowly, “why don’t you bring some new faces to these dinners?” He didn’t bother stifling his shit-eating grin, this was neutral territory, teasing was expected here, regardless of where they stood on other things.

“Because, _Jack_ ,” Spot grit out, not looking at Medda, “I don’t have anyone to bring.”

“Oh, come on, Spot, I don’t believe that,” Jack pressed on, never willing to quit while he was ahead when it came to messing with Spot. The plus side of that was he usually had someone else willing to join him.

“Yeah, Spot, guy like you, you gotta have boys beatin’ down your door askin’ for dates,” Crutchie chimed in, right on cue, unable to completely hold back his laughter.

“Or, you know, other things,” Jack said significantly, wiggling his eyebrows at Crutchie. They broke out laughing as Spot leaned across the table to smack at them both.

“Would you lay off it? I am a gentleman,” Spot insisted. Jack fought very hard to keep his laughter down at the irony of that statement, given Spot’s current behavior. “Besides,” he continued, “I can get a date any time I want.”

“Uh huh. Then why ain’t you?”

“Maybe, and I know this’ll be hard for you ta process, Cowboy, but maybe I don’t _wanna_ date nobody. Didja ever think of that?”

Jack tilted his head, pretending to consider the statement. He turned to Crutchie, who was making a very similar thoughtful face. “Nah, that’s not it. I bet you’re holdin’ a candle for someone, like a real romantic. Whaddaya think, Crutch?”

Crutchie nodded, attempting to look serious. The effect was somewhat ruined by the way his shoulders were shaking with the effort not to laugh, but all in all Jack thought his brother looked very sage and all-knowing. “Someone he thinks he don’t got a chance with, but someone he knows well enough ta know he wants one anyway. He did say he was a gentleman, so I bet he hasn’t done nothing, either.”

“Ah, yes, the classic struggle: falling in love with your best friend. How ever do you cope with that, Spot?” Jack asked, widening his eyes in mock concern. Crutchie snickered next to him, and even Medda smiled. As Jack watched his brother try to refrain from snapping at him, an idea occurred to him. Spot really did need a nudge in the right direction if he was ever going to break the stalemate he had going on. Only Medda seemed to notice the dull sound of a door clicking shut.

“Really,” Jack continued, trying not to give anything away too early, “must be so tough keepin’ a secret like that from him all that time. You spend so much time together. Don’t ya just wanna blurt it out? C’mon,” he cajoled in the face of Spot’s stony expression, “I bet it’ll help.”

Crutchie stilled when the cause of the sound appeared in the doorway. Jack had to hold his breath to keep from bursting out laughing.

Spot sighed, but clearly decided that playing along was the fastest way to get Jack to let it go, exactly as Jack had intended. “Yes, Jack, ya caught me,” Spot deadpanned. He rolled his eyes, “I’m madly in love with Race. How did you ever figure it out?”

Jack snickered and cut his eyes to the doorway behind Spot.

“You what?”

Spot spun around so fast at the sound of Race’s voice that he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fuck! Racer!” He exclaimed, staring at the other boy. “I didn’t—"

Jack couldn’t hold it together any longer and let the illusion of Race disappear, cackling with Crutchie when Spot turned back to glare at him. “Not funny, Cowboy.” Jack didn’t stop laughing. He’d thought it was pretty funny.

He was still laughing when Medda added, “No, Jack, that wasn’t funny.” Spot turned a victorious look on Jack, but Jack raised his eyebrows at him, knowing that wasn’t Medda’s chastising tone. “I really don’t know why you keep going on about Racetrack. Spot has obviously been dating Elmer, the sweet boy.”

Jack and Crutchie burst out laughing again as Medda turned to Spot, earnestness in her smile, mischief in her eyes. “You know you can bring him by anytime, Spot. We’ll accept you here.”

Spot dropped his forehead to the table, narrowly missing his plate. “You’re all the worst.” Medda finally joined in on the laughter, shaking her head at her boys’ antics.

Dinner ended quickly after that. Despite the brief moment of normalcy that had followed Jack’s announcement, Spot didn’t look at him once for the rest of the meal. Not even to glare.

Jack helped Spot gather the plates from the table while Crutchie and Medda went into the living room. He left Spot with the silverware and napkins to start washing the plates and glasses.

He busied himself with the sauce-covered pot Spot had left in the sink to soak, not looking forward to the conversation he knew was coming.

“Are you insane?” Spot hissed the moment the kitchen door had shut behind him, the sound of the local news in the living room becoming muffled.

Jack looked down at his bare hands washing the dishes. No harm in stalling for a few more seconds. “Alright, I’ll wear gloves if ya feel so strongly bout it, but I don’t think it’s really gonna matter.”

Spot put the bundle of silverware down on the counter with more force than necessary. Jack winced, glad it wasn’t the glasses. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What were you thinkin’, draggin’ all your boys into the protests?”

“Carajo, Spot, I was _thinkin’_ ,” Jack responded, starting on a plate to avoid looking at Spot, “that someone needed ta do _somethin’_ , and we can. And I didn’t _drag_ them, they made their own damn choices.”

He didn’t want to tell Spot that this was a reactionary decision, that he wouldn’t have done anything if Romeo and Specs hadn’t barreled right into the middle of the whole situation. At best, his brother would take that as just another reason that they shouldn’t be getting involved. At worst, he’d jump on Romeo and Specs, and, unlikely as that was, Jack would rather he was only mad at him, right now.

Spot sighed as he stepped up next to Jack to start drying the cleaned dishes. Jack held his breath for a moment. Spot’s movements were jerky, angry, but the plate didn’t break. “Yeah, but why _this_ , Jack? Why couldn’t ya just keep doin’ what we’ve been doin’?”

“Don’t you get it, what we been doing ain’t workin’. Nothing’s changed.” He lowered his voice with a glance at the closed door. They didn’t want to risk Medda hearing them. “Ain’t that what going on patrols was all about?”

Spot shook his head, still refusing to look at Jack, “I started goin’ on those patrols cause you wouldn’t let it go and someone had ta keep your dumb ass outta trouble.”

Jack knew that wasn’t true. He _knew_ Spot got as angry as he did about the shit hand people like them were dealt. He knew Spot wanted to change it just as much as he did, too. But there was no point arguing that, not tonight. When Spot dug his heels in about something, his opinion was as immovable as the rest of him.

He focused, instead, on trying to get Spot’s support for what he was doing now. He turned to his brother. “Yeah and I went cause I was sick a seein’ people like us kicked when they was down. But it ain’t enough. We can’t keep fightin’ in the background, Spot. We gotta take the fight to them.”

Spot put the glass in his hands down and turned to Jack, swinging the dish rag as he went. “Who even is “them”, Jack? Do you even know who youse going up against?”

Jack shook his head in frustration. That wasn’t the point. He knew this was bigger than them, that they were going up against forces greater than them. But that wasn’t the point. “This is how things change,” he insisted, silently begging Spot to believe him. But he wasn’t Romeo, and he couldn’t make people do something they didn’t want to.

“This is how people like us end up in a jail, or worse.”

“We know what we’re doin’. All of us.” Spot scoffed. Jack scowled, fine. So be it. “If youse so against it, ya don’t gotta help. Not with the protests or patrols. Not with any of it.”

“Good.” Spot turned back to the counter, picking the glass up again and continuing to dry it. “Cause I ain’t helpin’ ya dig your own grave, Cowboy.”

Silence settled over the kitchen, both brothers intent on their respective jobs, refusing to look at each other. Normally, this would be the part where Jack would tease Spot about needing help to put the dishes away, but the tension in the room stopped him from trying. They were far away from neutral ground.

“I’m just gonna make sure Spot didn’t try ta drown Jack in the sink.” Crutchie pushed open the kitchen door, letting it swing shut behind him as he leaned on the table, leveling Jack and Spot with a searching gaze. “Everythin’ all right in here?”

“I was just apologizing ta Spot here for messin’ with him at dinner, wasn’t I?” Jack asked with a glance at Spot. He nodded. Despite their differences, and the fact that it was pointless, neither of them wanted to burden Crutchie when things weren’t okay. Like with Medda, they tried not to fight around him. They would put this argument to bed, for now.

Crutchie snorted, “Sure you was.”

“I don’t know why youse making such a deal about it, not like it was true or nothing,” Spot grumbled, abandoning the dishes to lean against the counter with his arms crossed, trying and failing to look like he wasn’t pouting.

Crutchie raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconvinced. “Yeah, uh, Spot, you should know better’n tryin’ ta lie to me bout your _feelings_.”

Jack cracked up as Spot’s face reddened and he devoted himself with renewed vigor to drying the dishes.

****

“You must be Smalls,” Sarah said with a smile as she rose to shakes Smalls’ hand.

“This is my sister, Sarah,” Davey introduced. “She’s the real one in charge of what we’re doing here.”

Smalls laughed as Sarah reached behind her to smack at Davey. He swatted her hand away and she turned back to Smalls.

“So, Davey says you can help us make a legit website. Can you?” Davey winced. He’d been apprehensive about Sarah meeting his new friends. He loved his sister, truly, she just had a tendency to start off on the wrong foot with people. She and Katherine had recovered quickly, but Sarah’s caution-driven hostility tended to drive people away quickly. Sarah was skeptical by nature, and normally that served her well, especially when it came to the protests. Davey just wished she would learn when to keep that skepticism to herself sometimes. Especially when it offended people.

Their smile dropped as they raised an eyebrow, looking one second away from putting their hand on their hip. Davey caught himself holding his breath. “I’m studying web design,” they deadpanned.

Sarah held her hands up. “I didn’t mean any insult, I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff. Frankly I’m just impressed Davey managed to find someone who does in his new group of friends.”

For his part, Davey was, too. His sister teased him all the time for being terrible at making friends, and for the most part she wasn’t wrong, but he was as surprised as she was that he’d made such quick friends in this group of people. That they were all so willing to help the protests, and that most of them had powers, was just flat-out beyond Davey’s luck in the friend department. Maybe he could thank Race for that.

Smalls stared for another second before evidently deeming Sarah’s response good enough and setting their bag in the library chair next to Davey. “What were you thinking for this thing?”

Davey glanced at Sarah. She was the one who’d come up with the website idea, after all.

She rolled her eyes at him but answered Smalls anyway. “It doesn’t need to be anything fancy. More a blog type thing than anything else, really.”

“Right, yeah, I got that. But like.” Smalls gestured vaguely in the space in front of them. Davey couldn’t help but feel that they were on two different pages. They sighed, frustrated, with themselves or with Davey and Sarah, he couldn’t tell. “What do you need the site to _do_?”

Davey jumped in, _this_ he knew how to answer. “We want to be able to update people on events, have a platform for organizing events outside of just the city. There are people outside New York who care about this issue, we just need to reach them.”

“And besides that, we want to be able to draw attention to things as they happen, to keep people informed about what’s going on.

Smalls pulled out their laptop. “Okay, I can work with that. There are a couple of ways we can go about doing this. Here, let me know which you’d rather use.” They started typing, bringing up multiple pages on their computer, a few containing only strings of code Davey had no hope of deciphering. He turned to glance at Sarah on his other side to see her reaction to find her dragging her chair to the other side of the table, to look over Smalls’ shoulder.

They continued that way, with Smalls cycling through their different formats, and once one was chosen, tweaking it to fit better what Sarah and Davey were after. Sarah provided the most input, with Davey mostly chiming in when it seemed like his sister was getting carried away, trying to put too much into what really should be just a simple blog. He didn’t know how much time had passed when someone sat down directly across the table from him, startling him. A glance at the corner of Smalls screen confirmed it had been nearly an hour. Davey hadn’t even noticed. He slowly dragged his gaze away from the computer where Smalls was still typing to look at their new tablemate. He blinked a few times, his eyes watering from staring at the screen for so long, as he smiled at Katherine.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, not rudely, but apparently not kindly either, given by the absent swat Sarah directed at his head. He ducked out of the way without thinking, and Smalls did, too. Katherine laughed at them. Sarah’s head shot up at the sound.

“I heard you all were going to be here working on getting yourselves a platform. Wanted to make sure you weren’t squeezing me out of my exclusive.” Katherine grinned at him, clearly teasing. Davey laughed, shaking his head.

He quickly stifled his laughter when his sister responded. “Oh, no, not at all. We wouldn’t. This is just to have somewhere to organize ourselves better, outside of local movements. We wouldn’t want to lose your exclusive.” Sarah just sounded so _earnest_ it was almost painful to watch, as she leaned forward to smile at Katherine, reaching a hand out as she gestured with her words. Davey glanced over at Smalls, who had shut their laptop and was watching the scene play out before them. They glanced over at Davey in turn and raised an eyebrow, as if asking if they were always like this. Davey nodded gravely before hiding another laugh behind his hand.

It was so ridiculous to him. Sarah had liked girls before. She’d even dated some long enough to introduce them to him. He knew what Sarah looked like when she liked a girl. But he’d never seen his older sister so, so _smitten_. He honestly couldn’t think up a better word to describe how she behaved around Katherine.

Sarah may not be a cold and calculated person, but he hadn’t heard her giggle since they were children until they’d gone for coffee to be interviewed by Katherine Plumber. Sarah had never been obvious with her attraction to people, a combination of her personality and being rejected too many times for things she couldn’t control, but even Smalls, who had known Sarah for all of an hour, could see just how head over heels his sister already was for Katherine Plumber. It was so strange. Davey hoped it worked out.

Sarah and Katherine had continued talking without any input from Davey or Smalls and didn’t seem to have noticed their silence. Neither of them even glanced at the other two. Eventually Smalls must have gotten bored playing spectator to what was quickly becoming nothing but flirting thinly disguised as a conversation about Katherine’s in-progress article, because they coughed pointedly into their fist.

“Right, sorry,” Katherine said, finally seeming to remember the other two were there. “I didn’t mean to interrupt what you were working on.”

“You weren’t interrupting,” Sarah rushed to assure her. Katherine smiled at the other girl. Davey thought it was impressive Sarah could form words, since most of her blood had clearly made its way to her cheeks instead of her brain.

Davey rolled his eyes fondly. “We could probably all use a break, right Smalls?” He asked.

Smalls pushed their laptop away, leaning back in their chair and cracking their back. “Yeah,” they responded, “I could go for a break.”

“What did you all decide to do about the website, then?” Katherine asked, tilting her head curiously at Davey.

“Smalls has been helping us make it sort of like a mix between a blog and a campaign page.” Davey trailed off and glanced at Smalls for confirmation. They shrugged and nodded, which he took to mean he wasn’t too off. “Ideally, we’ll be able to use it to keep people updated about what we’re doing, and where, and also what’s happening. Maybe even a newsletter.”

Smalls huffed a laugh, now twisting in their chair to crack their back again. Davey tried not to wince at the sound. “A newsletter, he says. Like that’s just a click of a button instead of a whole damn process ta set up.” Davey sputtered, ready to assure Smalls he wasn’t taking them for granted. He had no concept of what they were doing, it was true, but still. He didn’t want to ask too much of them. They laughed at the look on his face and nudged him in the side, letting him know they were only kidding. He sagged in relief.

“If you’re going to do that, you should consider making a Twitter, too,” Katherine suggested, looking between the two of them curiously before focusing again on Davey. “It’d help get the word out before people know to look for the website.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Davey mused. Personally, he didn’t like to use Twitter. He didn’t really like to use social media that much, at all, though. “I wouldn’t know how to run it, though,” he admitted.

Sarah waved his concerns off. “Contrary to what you may believe, little brother, you don’t actually have to do everything. I’m sure one of your new friends would love to run the Twitter for us. What about that one you were telling me about, the funny one, what was his name?” She started snapping her fingers, face scrunching up as she tried to remember who he’d told her about. Davey waited, knowing Sarah, she’d get there on her own eventually. “Blackjack? Mack? Chaser?” She snapped her fingers louder, pointing at Davey, her face lit up in realization. “Racer! That was it!”

“No.” Davey and Smalls responded automatically, in unison. Across the table, Katherine was shaking her head.

“Just. No.” Davey repeated at the confused look on his sister’s face.

“But I thought you said he was really charismatic,” Sarah insisted.

Smalls let out a loud laugh, then got shushed by the people a few tables away from them. Right. They were in a library.

“Charismatic isn’t the word I would use,” Katherine said diplomatically.

“Why not?”

“Race can be,” Davey started, slowly, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. He liked, Race, he did, it’s just that the other boy was, “a bit much.”

“Loud,” Smalls pitched in.

“Cheeky,” Katherine added with a disbelieving head shake, clearly remembering something specific.

Davey thought back to some of the more colorful conversations he’d had with Race. “Crass.”

“A little shit,” Smalls countered, smirking at Davey.

“Okay, okay! I get it.” Sarah cut in before Davey or Katherine could chime in with something else to further smear Race’s reputation. “We’ll find someone else to run it.”

“We have to make it before anyone can run it,” Davey reminded his sister.

“Well, let’s do that now.” Katherine said it like it was just as simple as that. And maybe it was, Davey really didn’t know.

Smalls, though, clearly did as they nodded at Katherine, urging Davey to scoot his chair so all four of them could crowd around one side of the table. “We can use some of the foundational stuff we’ve already written for the website to fill out the Twitter. Set up a decent queue of the basic information until we need to use it to update people on more specific stuff.”

He didn’t miss that Smalls had manipulated it so that Sarah and Katherine were next to each other. He approved.

Katherine nodded, asking to see the website as it now stood, leaning into Sarah’s space to get a better view of the screen. And then from there Davey lost track of exactly what they were trying to do. He understood enough to chime in with his opinion on the content of something, “updates” Katherine called them. He’d thought they were tweets…

He shrugged mentally. The others seemed to have a firmer grasp of the social media aspect. He was glad just knowing they’d started. For as long as they’d been going on, since his childhood, at least, the protests had been a rather small affair. They had the biggest followings in larger, more liberal cities across the country, but they weren’t centralized anywhere. This, hopefully, would help them start to make that happen. Nothing was going to change unless they could get everyone on the same page.

Part of him balked at the idea of being a leader of a nationwide movement for change, but he’d been doing it for all the protests in New York for a while now. And he’d done alright, he thought, only because he wasn’t alone. He looked over at his sister where she was smiling bemusedly at something Katherine and Smalls were debating about the presentation of cross-posted information. This wasn’t either of their strength, all of this online social media stuff. But they didn’t have to do this alone. They’d had each other running the protests in New York. And now they had an even bigger group of people personally invested in their work helping them change how they ran the protests, giving them the ability to tackle the bigger problems. The real problems they hadn’t had the weight to tackle before. They’d had volunteers and other protesters, of course, but nothing like this. Davey found himself smiling. They could really do this.

“We could do something with graphics, for the kinds of things that aren’t so bogged down in procedure,” Katherine suggested, catching Davey’s attention.

“What, like for posters?” Davey didn’t know how he felt about the implication there that the procedures were a problem, they needed to be made clear. They couldn’t risk making any missteps in how they handled things, from actual protests and marches to the kinds of demands they made. Not when so many people in power were against what they were doing. But still, he could get behind eye-catching posters, maybe even slogans. Those would be good for protest signs, too.

Katherine nodded, “Well, yes, that too. But I meant more like graphics to accompany the information, to make it more powerful, and let you keep it short.”

Smalls nodded thoughtfully. “So that more people will read it.”

“Exactly.”

“It would definitely make our message more accessible.” Sarah’s gaze went distant, and Davey could tell she was thinking of all the things they could do with this plan.

“We still need to put the long, procedure filled stuff out there though,” Davey insisted. As nice as the idea was, they needed to be clear about what they wanted to do. They couldn’t afford any misunderstandings.

“I mean sure, but that don’t mean you can’t catch people’s attention with these, too,” Smalls said, a considering look on their face. Davey felt like he was fighting a losing battle.

Even so, he had one more point to make.

“How would we even design them? No offense, Smalls, but I’m pretty sure web design is different from graphic design.”

“I mean, it depends. For me, you’re right, I’d rather code than draw.” Davey nodded, ready to nudge them back to the more practical ideas they’d started with. “But,” Smalls continued, a grin that Davey didn’t like growing on their face. “I know someone who could design them for us. He’d be happy to, I bet, if we ask right.”

“Really? Who?” Katherine asked, leaning around Sarah to look curiously at Smalls, oblivious to the growing dread in Davey’s stomach.

“Jack. He’s an art major, ya know.”

“I didn’t think Jack was very enthusiastic about the protests?” Sarah asked, looking at Davey in confusion.

His jaw worked even as he shook his head. He didn’t know why the idea of involving Jack in this aspect of their plan was freaking him out. It wasn’t like Davey hadn’t been trying to get his support for this the first time they’d met.

Finally, he got his mouth to work, and replied to his sister. “Jack’s completely on board. He’s just worried about getting exposed. About all of them being exposed.”

“Paranoid, more like,” Smalls added under their breath. Sarah either didn’t hear or chose to ignore it.

“Well, if he can help, you should ask him,” Sarah said, acting like she didn’t know she was directly causing Davey’s heart rate to increase. The smirk she looked down to hide said she did. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. It was just talking to Jack. He’d done it before.

Except that had always been with the others around, and almost always about nothing important. This probably wouldn’t be like that. He’d be working with Jack and asking to see his art, and maybe watching him draw the designs, giving their words form. It was just a lot.

“Yeah, sure, I can do that,” he replied, his voice strained.

“We should probably have an idea of what kind of tone you want for these, before you start designing them, though,” Katherine reminded them. “I mean, some of them could even become symbolic of the movement if we design them right.”

“We, huh?” Sarah asked, glancing sideways at Katherine. Davey tried not to take any vindictive pleasure from the visual confirmation that at least his sister was having as much emotional trouble with her crush as he was with his.

Oh.

Katherine laughed. Sarah’s smile brightened. “Yeah, we. I’m in this now, or didn’t you know?”

He had a crush on Jack. Judging by the knowing look on Smalls’ face as they looked between him and his sister, he’d been the last to know. Was he really as obvious as Sarah?

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, um, I'm not dead? I'm sorry for missing last weekend, school really started at 100 and kept going from there, but I'm getting back into the rhythm. Hopefully I won't miss another update, but if I do, I will try to update the next Saturday (so that I don't just totally shift my schedule and fall further behind). Thank you guys for being patient.
> 
> Notes on the chapter!
> 
> 1) Yes, everyone knows about Spot and Race. Yes, Medda probably knows about Spot and Race. No, Spot and Race don't have any idea.
> 
> 2) Mexican Jack Kelly! This is a personal headcanon of mine (and my partner in running newsiesquare on tumblr) that I was really excited to write here. I did go back and edit some dialogue in Chapter 3 because I realized I hadn't actually had any continuity in Jack being bilingual, even though that was the plan all along, but that didn't affect any plot. Look forward to some more exploration of this coming up, because I have a whole damn backstory planned.
> 
> 3) Can you tell I have no idea how to code and have never used Twitter in my life?
> 
> 4) If you're a Les Mis fan, the second half of this chapter gave me a really strong Les Mis ModernEra! fic vibe. And while these characters are not the same, really at all, it was fun to steer into that skid, a bit at least. It will probably happen again with the nuts and bolts of the protests.
> 
> 5) Chapter title is from a quote from Patricia Fleming, basically, "If your sibling gets something you want, you (1) try to take it; (2) break it; or (3) say it's no good." The quote wasn't really inspiration for this chapter, but sibling relationships were a common thread, and I liked that tagline "the rule of siblings". There *is* a Lemony Snicket quote "Siblings that say they never fight are most definitely hiding something" which I think is maybe closer? They're siblings and they love each other buy damn if they aren't also the bane of each other's existence.


	6. Hurry Up and Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi all. It's been awhile. On the bright side, I've got the whole story actually sketched out now, so I should be able to do more writing again, even though school is on the horizon.
> 
> Anyway, here's a longer than normal chapter to help make up for it. As usual, Specs is the only one who knows what he's doing.

Race had had a rough day. He had had a terrible, horrible, no good, really bad day. Not only had he forgotten his notes in the apartment, but when he’d decided to try and get some work done in the park, because it had seemed like a good idea, no sooner had he sat down at a nice, shaded bench, than a bird decided to crap. In his backpack. And he couldn’t even use their new involvement in the protests as a distraction, because Jack was insisting that they get “trained” before they went out anymore and Tommy Boy was being anal about enforcing it even though he couldn’t get permission to use the gym after hours until Saturday. And it wasn’t like anyone had cared if Race could fight _before_ , but whatever. The point was, he had nothing to distract him from dwelling on it all.

In short, Race was done with today. He just desperately wanted to collapse into his bed and skip to tomorrow, when maybe Lady Luck would be done tormenting him.

Race stopped mid-step at the sight of the shirt hanging off the doorknob of his closed bedroom door.

God damn it, not again. Race was happy for them, he was. They were two of his best friends, and their happiness made him happy. But did they always have to be happy in his and Albert’s room? Finch had his own room; Race didn’t understand why they couldn’t just have sex in there.

No, that was a lie. They’d asked him if it bothered him after the first time, and he’d just shrugged it off because he could take the couch, it was fine. He didn’t have to hear anything from the couch and that way neither did Specs, whose room shared a wall with Finch’s.

Just. It was the principle of the thing.

It really was his fucking luck, though. He glanced despondently at the offending shirt one more time before turning to the couch. Their old, cheap, lumpy couch that he and Al had found in an alley the first week they’d lived in the apartment.

No, screw that. He’d had a long ass day and he wanted to sleep in a damn bed.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair he’d thrown it on, checked his pockets for his keys, and texted Specs on his way out the door.

[Race     12:12AM]

                Al and Fi have taken over my room

                Heading to STBEs

                Im NOT sleeping on our couch

He tried not to read too much into the single laughing emoji he got in return as he pulled the car door shut.

The drive to Spot’s apartment was almost automatic for him at this point. He could do it with his eyes closed, not that he would. Or at least, he mused as he pulled into a parking space, not when his luck was like this. He paused at the thought, his car door swinging shut behind him. Was Spot even in the apartment? Oh no, with today’s luck…

He pulled out his phone and typed out a quick text to Spot.

[Race     12:26AM]

                Hey u up?

He tried not to sag in relief when his phone buzzed with Spot’s response almost as soon as he’d pressed send.

[Spot     12:26AM]

                Yeah

                Everything okay?

Race shoved his phone back into his pocket, pushed the building’s door open, and started up the stairs. In less than two minutes he was knocking on the door to the fourth-floor apartment.

“Racer? What’s up?” Spot asked when he opened the door, wearing sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, raising an eyebrow at Race’s shortened breath. Oh, screw him, the elevator in Race’s shitty ass building actually worked. It wasn’t his fault he only ever had to take the stairs at Spot’s.

He leaned against the door frame, and consequently closer to Spot, trying (and probably failing) to look unaffected. Damn, Spot looked really good in his sleep clothes. Unguarded. “Got kicked outta my room again, didn’t wanna bother with our couch.” Spot huffed a not-quite laugh, but Race’s chest still filled with pride at the sound.

“That’s fair, your couch’s a piece a shit.” Despite his agreement on the situation, Spot didn’t move out of the doorway, instead leaning against the other side of the frame, mirroring Race’s position. Race wanted to argue about the couch, on principle, but that wouldn’t get them any further in this dance. Spot would make him ask, he wouldn’t just assume. He never did. Sometimes Race wished he would.

Besides, he was right, the couch was a piece of shit.

Otherwise, why would Race be here?

Race nodded and let a smirk pull at his lips. “So I was thinkin’, you and I have a little fun, an’ then you let me crash in your bed instead of sendin’ me back ta my shitty couch.”

Spot’s eyebrows furrowed, and he pushed off the door frame. “Racer,” he started, and oh no. Race knew that tone. That was Spot’s bad news tone.

“Or not!” Race interrupted, speaking over any rejection Spot may have been gearing up for. “You don’t wanna. No, no, that’s totally fine. It’s fine, I’ll-I’ll just go home. I was exaggeratin’ bout the couch, it ain’t that bad. I’m sorry, I shouldn’ta bothered ya. I’ll just go. Sorry.” Race knew he wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t stop himself, even as he stepped away from the door and gestured to the stairs behind him. They were behind him, right? That was the way he had to go to get out of this awful situation? Oh, god, what if he was wrong and then he’d have to walk past Spot’s door again? What if—

Spot’s hand on his arm halted his racing internal monologue. “Racer!” He said, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “ _Thank_ you, if you’d lemme get a word out.” He sounded exasperated, but Race could see his concern in the way his eyes creased at the corners. Why would Spot be concerned? He hadn’t wanted to sleep with Race and so Race was leaving. That was what he wanted, why would it make Spot worried? It was about then that he realized he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and, oh, that probably wasn’t good. Spot moved his other hand to grasp Race’s upper arm tightly, grounding him somewhat, though Race doubted he realized. Then again, maybe Race wasn’t giving him enough credit.

Spot’s voice was steady when he spoke again. “I ain’t opposed ta sleepin’ wit ya, course I ain’t, don’t be stupid. But you know you don’t gotta—," Spot cut himself off, looking somewhere next to Race’s left ear, while Race tried not to dwell too much on how his anxiety practically vanished at Spot’s words or what he meant by “course I ain’t”. Because he didn’t need to go down that road. He was in deep enough as it was, clearly, freaking out about a rejection even though they were just messing around. After a moment, Spot squared his shoulders and met Race’s eyes, his gaze steady. “If ya need a place ta sleep cause yours ain’t cutting it, youse got one here, any night, no sex required.”

Race grinned, though he knew it was shaky. He tried to brush it off. “Yeah, but sex gets me your bed, not your couch.” Maybe if he could play it off well enough, he could ignore the relief that had swept through him when he realized Spot didn’t want him to leave, had never been trying to get him to leave. Maybe Spot would even believe it. “S’almost as shitty as mine.”

Spot’s posture softened a bit, though he didn’t let go of Race’s arms or look away from his face. Race couldn’t tell if that was because he’d seen the shakiness of the smile or seen through the bravado of his statement. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. “I wouldn’t make ya—," Spot started to say, then shook his head, appearing to change his mind. Instead, he grinned, just a little, Race could see it in his eyes. “I just wanna be sure you ain’t tryin’ ta pimp yourself out for a place ta sleep.”

Race found himself laughing, and it felt more convincing—more real—than his grin had been. “Oh please, Spotty. If I was gonna pimp myself out for a bed, I’d at least go ta the Ritz. I have some dignity.”

Spot rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Race did that. He’d messed up and almost not had this, but he still did _that_. And then Spot was pulling him into the apartment with a mumbled, “Some ego, more like,” and kissing him against the closed door and then it didn’t feel like he’d messed up at all, anymore.

****

Specs looked up from the homework he was halfheartedly doing when his phone buzzed on his bed. Surely Race wasn’t texting him again, it’d been nearly half an hour since he’d left the apartment, he should’ve already been at Spot’s. Still, Specs would rather let that distract him than do his stats work, and he jumped up to see what was going on.

Sure enough, it wasn’t Race, but Tommy Boy, in the group chat.

[NASA—Tommy Boy       12:36AM]

                They’re such fucking idiots.

Specs laughed as he replied. Even if their meddling wasn’t getting Race and Spot to realize they were dating, it was fun. For him at least.

[NASA—Specs   12:37AM]

                Tell me about it. Finch isn’t even here rn, he’s on patrol.

[NASA—Albert  12:37AM]

                I didn’t even put /my/ shirt on the door. It was Race’s.

                You’d think he’d realize he just wants to sleep with his boyfriend but noooo

                He’s gotta make excuses and pretend he doesn’t have FeelingsTM

[NASA—Tommy Boy       12:38AM]

                Hey since no one’s having sex in *your* apartment can I come chill for a few hours?

[NASA—Albert  12:38AM]

                Course dude we got Netflix

[NASA—Finch   12:38AM]

                Albert you have a 8:30 go the fuck to bed

[NASA—Albert  12:39AM]

                Shouldn’t you be patrolling?

[NASA—Finch   12:39AM]

                Al.

[NASA—Albert  12:39AM]

                fine. xo

[NASA—Specs   12:40AM]

                I still have Netflix. And Finch can’t make me go to bed ;)

Specs laughed at the middle finger emoji Albert sent in response to that. He deserved it, but Al made it so easy.

[NASA—Albert  12:40AM]

                But seriously who still winks like that?????

[NASA—Finch   12:41AM]

                Al I swear go to bed.

[NASA—Albert  12:41AM]

                I’m going I’m going

                Don’t text and fly

[NASA—Tommy Boy       12:41AM]

                omw

[Tommy Boy       12:43AM]

                Open your blinds I can’t see your room

                I don’t want to get caught on this roof

Specs chuckled as he sent off a reply, grabbing his computer from his desk and closing out his reading. He had better things to be doing tonight. He pulled his blinds open on his way to his bed.

[Specs   12:44AM]

                You sound like such a stalker

“Yeah, but you still opened the blinds.” Specs could hear the smirk in Tommy Boy’s voice, as he settled the computer in his lap. He knew his mouth was stretched in a similar grin when he responded.

“I must have _some_ kind of jacked up survival instinct. Can’t figure why I’d do that.” He raised his eyebrows at Tommy Boy, who was still standing by the desk where he’d appeared, and nodded at the empty space on the bed next to him.

Tommy Boy’s smirk grew into a full-on grin as he jumped onto the bed next to Specs, making himself comfortable against the other boy’s shoulder. “So, what’re we watchin’?”

****

Jack glanced up at the dark sky, trying and failing to see Finch flying above the buildings. Good, he was staying out of sight.

Jack knew it was ridiculous that he was insisting on so much caution now just because they’d decided to help the protests, but he couldn’t help it. Spot had gotten into his head. He hadn’t changed his mind, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. So Finch was flying carefully, above the roofs and the glow of the streetlights, keeping an eye on Jack and Blink on the other side of the block. Hopefully none of them would attract too much attention.

A crash from the alley on the other side of the street had Jack hastily pulling his bandana up to cover his face. His shoulders tensed, ready for a fight, as he moved closer to see what was going on. He nearly jumped on the two figures who darted out of the alley before he realized they were just kids, maybe seventeen. Out after curfew, sure, but not trouble. He pushed the bandana back down.

He was jumpy, and he knew he was really the only one. Blink was so enthusiastic about the prospect of finally taking on people they usually avoided, especially ones they knew worked for Weasel. And Finch, well Finch was as calm about it now as he’d been when they’d decided to do this, though Jack knew if they actually found someone working for Weasel, Finch would jump at the chance to ruin their day.

But, the thing was, they didn’t have the kind of luck that let them do things like this and have them work out. Well, Jack allowed as he continued his casual pace down the block, maybe Race did. Sometimes. Jack, though, he’d grown up learning again and again that the way things were was just how it was, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, anyone could do about that. He’d learned to just keep his head down and take care of his people. He’d learned to survive.

But of course, his people had decided they wanted to _do something_ about the state of things. They wanted to change the world. And Jack couldn’t even say he disagreed, but how did they not understand that they couldn’t just _do_ this? This wasn’t how things worked. They wouldn’t get away with it. Sooner or later, the universe would catch on that things were different now. And then it would set things back to rights, like it always did when people like them tried to make a stand. And it would end with them right back where they’d started, if not worse off. Just like it always did.

Jack was jolted out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Normally he would ignore it during patrols, but that was Finch’s pattern. He stopped and leaned against the side of a building, attempting to look normal, and checked his phone.

[Finch    12:47]

                Blink found a mini weasel

Jack swore internally, stowing his phone and pulling his bandana up as he sprinted down the block and around the corner. They were doing this.

He rounded the block to see Blink pinning a struggling man to a building. The man’s head was surrounded by darkness, but Jack didn’t think he’d run into him before. Blink was sure, though, and Jack trusted him to know. Even though the man couldn’t see them, Jack sighed in relief when he saw Blink was wearing the cheap, plastic costume mask. Jack knew he hated how it felt over his eye-patch.

Blink nodded at Jack as he approached. Jack assessed the still struggling man and watched as ropes materialized around his ankles and wrists, pinning his arms behind his back. The man stilled, entire body going tense. Jack supposed ropes appearing from nowhere while you were completely blind _would_ be rather startling.

“Who are you?” The man asked, fear bleeding into his tone despite his attempts to sound demanding. “What do you want?”

Blink looked at Jack. They’d never really done this before. Jack shook his head. Not yet. He motioned for Blink to turn the man so his back was to the wall. As he did this, the area around them got darker, obscuring them from view from the apartments on the block, even as the darkness around the man’s head cleared. Jack nodded approvingly as he looked around for Finch, the other boys shouldn’t have been too far behind Jack.

Almost on cue, Finch dropped down just inside the area of darkness, landing on one knee.

“That’s real hard on your knees,” he said conversationally, shaking his head as he stood up straight. Blink laughed while Jack turned his attention back to the man standing petrified against the wall, staring at them with dawning realization.

Jack let the illusion of the ropes fade. He wouldn’t be able to keep up an illusion that looked and felt real and focus on finding out what this man knew about Weasel’s secret meta operations at the same time. If he even knew anything. They needed to make sure he didn’t run, though. Even if he probably wouldn’t, what with Finch’s arrival effectively trapping him against the building, Jack wanted to be sure. To make up for the loss of ropes, he pictured the image of a nail-studded bat in his hands. It wouldn’t hit anything, but the man didn’t know that.

“Who the hell are you people?” The man asked again, still trying for demanding, like he really thought he was the one in charge of this situation. The tremor running through his hands and his voice gave away that he knew he really wasn’t.

“I think you’re confused who’s asking the questions here,” Jack said, watching the man’s gaze dart between the bat and his covered face. Finch and Blink were both wearing the cheap costume masks, but Jack would still rather the man focused on him. And the bat he thought Jack was holding. “What’s Weasel doing with the metas?”

“Wha—? I-I don’t know!” The man stuttered, shaking his head. “I’m not one a them, I don’t know nothing, honest!”

“We know he’s hirin’ metas off the books,” Jack continued, stepping closer. “What’re they doin’ for him?”

“You gotta have some idea what they’re hanging around for,” Blink cut in when the man didn’t respond immediately. The man shrunk even further into the bricks behind him as the darkness surrounding them seemed to deepen.

“Look, look,” The man held up his hands, “I’ll talk.”

Jack raised his eyebrows and gestured with the bat for the man to continue.

He eyed the bat warily but started talking. “Johnny Farrell. He’s one a them guys Weasel hires for side jobs.”

“What the hell’s Red Rock Farrell doin’ running for Weasel?” Finch asked tightly, tensing up next to Jack. Jack felt more than saw Finch square his shoulders as the man’s gaze darted to him. He resisted the urge to turn and look at his friend; Finch knew who they were talking about, enough to come back with the guy’s nickname, but Jack couldn’t risk drawing attention to it.

“I dunno what any a them do,” the man insisted, “just that they get plenty a cash to stir up trouble and keep doin’ it. I don’t ask.”

“So they ain’t in the books?” Jack asked, thinking about the scraps of information Katherine and Specs had been able to find in Weasel’s office. If they didn’t have the evidence to back them up, any article Katherine wrote would flop. That was how it went with pro-meta journalism; no one would believe it if it was just their word against Weasel’s.

The man shook his head frantically, “Nah, nah, Weasel likes his money too much. He keeps track a where it’s goin’, he’s got records, I swear.”

“Where’s he keep ‘em?” Finch asked.

“He don’t let nobody touch ‘em. Keeps everythin’ on his personal computer, locked up tight.”

Finch looked ready to fly off to Hell’s Kitchen that second to get that information from Weasel. Jack stepped in front of him, enough to block their new friend from seeing as he elbowed the other boy in the side. Whatever it was that was rattling Finch about that name had to wait. They needed to focus.

“You know when your friend’s next side job is?” The man’s gaze narrowed in on Jack again, and the bat he made a show of hitting in his palm.

“S-Saturday,” he stammered. “Said he wanted ta get drinks at the Blind Tiger on Bleeker after the job was done.”

Jack glanced sideways at Finch and Blink. He knew that bar.

“Look, tha-that’s all I know, I swear!” The man stammered, his hands still up near his ears. Jack studied him for a moment, then turned to Blink and nodded. He stepped to the side as the darkness around them faded back to normal levels.

“Go on, get outta here,” Jack said roughly, gesturing with the bat. The man shakily lowered his hands, looking between the three of them before seemingly coming to a resolution and sprinting down the street.

“So. Saturday, then?” Blink asked, but Jack shook his head.

“Later.” He looked down the street where the man had gone, jumpy again. He turned sharply and started heading in the other direction. He turned to look over his shoulder when he realized Finch and Blink weren’t following, “We’ll figure it out later. Come on, we’re done for the night, we shouldn’t hang round here.”

Even as they caught up to him, stowing their masks and becoming an ordinary group of people walking around New York at night, he couldn’t shake the restlessness in his limbs, the feeling that they were in way over their heads.

****

Race couldn’t believe he’d never been to Tommy Boy’s gym. Or, well, the gym he worked at. It was a pretty nice place, not that Race knew that much about gyms. There were no blood stains, all the equipment looked well-used but clean and functioning. All the lights were on. None of them were even flickering. Based off his primarily movie-based knowledge of boxing gyms, Tommy Boy was sitting pretty with this job.

Of course, Tommy Boy _had_ told Race that it wasn’t exactly a boxing gym, but Race could see one of those raised platforms with the ropes around it, and there were punching bags hanging from the ceiling around the gym. And, also, Race didn’t know enough about the different kinds of fighting or the kinds of equipment they used for anything to convince him this wasn’t a boxing gym.

“Alright, folks, listen up!” Tommy Boy yelled, clapping his hands together. Just to be extra sure he had their attention, Race supposed. Not that he really needed to, they were the only ones in the gym, and they’d taken over the back, away from the road and any windows, so there wasn’t even much noise. Maybe this was just Tommy Boy slipping into his gym trainer mode. Race was learning so much tonight. Oh, right, he was supposed to be listening. He tuned back in to hear Tommy Boy finish. “I ain’t gonna get fired for bringing all a you here after-hours, my boss was cool with it, but I _will_ lose my job if any of youse damages anythin’.”

He looked pointedly behind Race. He turned to see Albert and Romeo drop guiltily to the ground from where they’d been balancing over the ropes around the boxing ring.

“Uh, Tommy Boy?” Mush asked, honest to fuck raising his hand. “How’m I supposed ta practice my thing?”

Tommy Boy turned to him with an apologetic frown, “Sorry, Mush, I really can’t let ya start fires in here.” The other boy nodded, face falling.

Race winced in sympathy while Tommy Boy, Specs, and Finch went about pairing off those who were used to patrols and directing those who weren’t towards the punching bags. Race was in the second group, despite thinking his tendency to man the getaway car on patrols should exclude him from this whole thing in the first place. He’d tried to argue his point with Finch earlier that night and lost the argument soundly when he ended up driving his entire apartment to the gym a few hours later.

He did get why Jack had wanted them to do this, and he even got why Jack wasn’t there for the first night they were doing this. Too many of them were completely unprepared for what they were taking on and those who weren’t still weren’t nearly as prepared as they could be. They were doing something they’d never done before, something on a whole other level of dangerous from anything they’d tried. But someone still needed to patrol, especially now. And, naturally, Jack thought that someone had to be him. Race got all of that, even if he thought it was over the top, and a little bit stupid.

Looking at them now, though, borrowing time in a borrowed place where they still had to push down parts of who they were because it was dangerous, Race wasn’t sure it would be enough. How could they change the game when the cards were so heavily stacked against them?

“Hold on, Albert, wait,” Finch called from the other side of the gym, shaking Race out of his introspection. Race shared a confused look with Romeo.

“What? I ain’t gonna climb on it, I swear!” Albert yelled back, turning away from where he had been sizing up one of the hanging punching bags and crossing his heart as his boyfriend walked across the gym. He grabbed a duffel bag on the way that Race remembered him shoving into the trunk of the car.

Finch’s steps faltered for a moment as confusion crossed his face before he shook his head and walked to stand in front of Albert. “No, just. Aren’t you forgettin’ something?” He held out the duffel bag expectantly, letting it hang between them.

Finch, unlike Albert, was speaking at a normal level, but Race and Romeo were close enough that they could still hear the conversation. Looking at Albert, in his sweats and loose t-shirt, Race didn’t really get what Finch was talking about. Albert was dressed the same as the rest of them.

Albert didn’t seem to understand either, judging by the raised eyebrow he gave Finch and the sweep he made with his hand to encompass his clothes.

Finch sighed, looking like he was on the verge of pushing up his non-existent glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose like something out of an anime. Which, if Race was making that comparison in the sanctity of his own thoughts, he needed to stop letting Albert convince him to watch anime at midnight. “Al, you need ta put on a sports bra.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m gonna be doing much!” Albert protested, putting on a pout that Race would know was an act from a mile away. When Albert was really upset, he sulked, he only pouted when he wanted something. “I don’t go on patrols, Finchy, remember?”

Finch didn’t budge under the force of Albert’s pout. “I’m serious. You can’t work out in a binder. S’for your own good.”

Race’s eyes widened as he realized what Finch was going on about. Oh, that _dumbass_. They shared a room, how had Race not noticed that before they’d left the apartment? He got that Albert didn’t like not wearing his binder, but for his part he’d really prefer Albert didn’t hurt himself.

“Come on, I’ll be fine,” Albert wheedled, “I do more exercise running late to class than I’m gonna do tonight.”

Finch didn’t bother dignifying that with a verbal response, instead reaching into the duffel bag and tossing one of Albert’s sports bras to him. The other boy caught it only after it hit his chest to stop it from falling to the floor. Probably not a bad idea. Sure, they looked clean now, but you never knew what happened on boxing gym floors, Race figured it was better safe than sorry, look at Fight Club.

Albert looked down at the sports bra in defeat before he sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll go change.”

“Thank you,” Finch nodded and turned to go back to whatever the “experienced” people were going to do tonight.

“That’s it?” Oh no, no, Race did not like that smirk on Albert’s face. Judging by the look on Finch’s when he turned back, though, he certainly did. “I gotta deal with you snoopin’ in my room doing who knows what, and I don’t even get a kiss? Come on, Finchy.” He stepped closer, chin tilted up to look the other boy in the eye.

No. No, no, nope, not happening. Race was leaving the area before he had to witness this. His brain could only take so much emotional scarring.

“Oh, trust me, you know what I was doing in your room, babe. And last I checked you weren’t complaining,” Finch replied with a wink, voice dropping an octave as he let Albert come into his space.

Too late.

“Hm, true. Anything worth repeating?”

“There are children present!” Race screeched before Finch could reply, gesturing frantically at Romeo, who looked mildly ticked off at being called a child. For his part, Race just wanted to stop this going any further. If he had to watch them make out, he was going to throw up all over Tommy Boy’s nice clean gym floor.

Finch and Albert shared a look before breaking down laughing, Albert leaning against Finch’s chest. Across the gym, Tommy Boy had already started some of the pairs on sparring. Race really wished he was over there.

Romeo, already over the child comment, patted Race’s shoulder consolingly, but it was pity not sympathy. Oh, how Race envied him; this stuff never fazed Romeo. Finch dropped a quick kiss on Albert’s cheek before gently pushing him off in the direction of the bathroom. “Sports bra, go.”

Albert rolled his eyes but shot off a mock salute and went to change. Race walked towards the other side of the gym, too late to save his poor emotional health, and leaned his forehead against one of the punching bags.

He heard Finch laugh behind him. “Sorry, man, you’re too easy. Couldn’t resist.”

Race flipped him off without moving his head. Finch laughed again, and Race heard him walk away. “Specs,” Race said, his voice muffled by the punching bag. “I’d like ta hit things now.”

“Wait, really?” Specs asked, the surprise evident in his voice. Race supposed he deserved that, given how much he had complained about coming to this in the first place. Race nodded, the hanging bag swinging a bit with his movement. He pulled his head back before he did something stupid like hit himself in the head with a punching bag. No one would ever let him live that down.

“Alright, well then,” Specs continued, still sounding a little surprised. “I know most a you don’t plan on fightin’ nobody, but still. S’better you know what you’re doin’, just in case something goes wrong.”

“So we gonna fight like they’re doin’?” Romeo asked, gesturing to the rest of the boys and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Specs threw an arm around the other boy’s shoulders, leading him to one of the bags. “You, my young friend, are going to learn how to punch.”

“Is that it?” Romeo whined.

Specs shrugged, unconcerned with his unenthused students. “Maybe. We gotta teach ya the muscle memory, so you don’t freeze up. Now, come on, gloves on. Safety first.”

At first, Race thought he meant the intricate looking wrapping he and Tommy Boy were both sporting, but instead Specs gestured towards a stack of more normal looking boxing gloves. Race allowed himself a moment of relief at that, he didn’t want to have to figure out that wrapping thing.

After they’d all claimed a pair of gloves and managed to get them on—thank fuck for Velcro—Specs had them all choose a punching bag, and then the real work began.

The few hours Tommy Boy had insisted they stay in the gym crawled by monotonously for Race. Specs hadn’t been kidding about building muscle memory, but he did fail to mention how long it was going to take. He spent the first ten minutes making sure they all knew how to throw a punch and then told them to just, do that. He’d even left after he’d told them that, going to do something with the others. Probably show up Tommy Boy or whatever passed for flirting between them.

Race might have been, just a little bit, bitter. Punching a bag was _boring_. He could’ve been on a patrol, or hanging out with Spot, cooking dinner, not suffering through this mind-numbing monotony. It was just punch left, punch right, punch left, punch right, again, and again, and again. And, yes, he knew there were names for it, but the exercise was too dull for him to care.

Not to mention his arms were damn sore.

Every now and again Specs would come back, or Tommy Boy or Finch would, and tell them to either take a break, or show them different punches. The different punches were the only real break in the monotony. And Race knew he was the only one really feeling the boredom. Albert and Romeo were having some kind of contest to see who could make their bag swing the furthest. Sniper was singing along under his breath to the background music Elmer had put on.

When Tommy Boy finally announced that they were done for the night, Race wanted to collapse. So, he did. Right there, with his head under the punching bag, watching it swing idly from his last punches.

“Come on, Race, you gotta stretch out,” Specs said, appearing at the edge of Race’s vision, just a blur of a person.

Race groaned at the thought of getting up. “M’good. Just gonna lay here and die, thanks.” He sighed when Specs didn’t leave. “I will in a minute. Promise.”

Specs snorted, not believing him. “Your funeral, man.”

Race rolled his eyes. He didn’t get up from under the punching bag until Finch literally dragged him sideways by the arm and forced him up because they needed him to drive them home.

****

Jack rounded the corner of yet another block, trying not to rankle at how quiet things had been. He should be glad. Relieved, at least. And part of him was, sure, but the other part was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. That everything was quiet just made that feeling worse.

At least they had had some outlet when they’d found one of Weasel’s guys. _Jack_ had had an outlet, a way to start getting answers, to move them closer to the end of this.

He knew Blink was on edge, too, the few texts he’d sent that turned out to be false alarms were a sure sign of that. At least neither of the twins seemed to be picking up on it. When Mike was tense, he tended to get twitchy, and when Ike was tense, he tended to almost fold in on himself. Not too conductive to a productive patrol. Especially not with superspeed thrown in the mix.

He crossed under the glow of a streetlight, skirting around the guy smoking against the pole. He didn’t look up. It wasn’t like Jack was expecting anything, really, out of tonight’s patrol. They weren’t canvassing the area looking for someone they knew tended to lurk there. This was a standard run. But he was still so tense.

He’d had to keep stopping himself from sending a text to the boys to check in. He knew they didn’t need it and wouldn’t appreciate it. Blink could more than handle himself in a fight, if he found himself in one. And the twins were better than everyone except Tommy Boy at getting themselves out of a fight. Not to mention they’d chosen to stick close enough to each other that any of them could hear if someone yelled for backup. They were being careful, there was no reason for him to be as worried as he was. Except, well, except Spot wasn’t there.

Not that it would have changed anything. Spot wouldn’t have been with them tonight even if he _had_ decided to join in on what they were doing. He didn’t like patrolling in Manhattan, and tried to avoid it whenever he could. At most he would venture into Seaport, maybe Tribeca, but usually Jack had to go to the other side of the bridge to patrol with his brother.

But it still mattered.

Without Spot—no, without Spot’s support, Jack didn’t know what to do with the patrols. He knew, as much as his boys did, that what they were doing was right. And he thought Spot did, too. But his brother not being willing to step out with them on this sat wrong with Jack. It made him worry this wasn’t really a good idea all over again. And that he couldn’t protect the boys through this, or that it was all going to crash and burn, and it would be his fault, for getting them involved in the first place.

Knowing that Spot was apparently so concerned about that that he wasn’t even going to stand with them, that shook Jack up in a way he didn’t want to admit.

At least the rest of the boys were starting some self-defense training with Tommy Boy tonight. Jack supposed that was something. He didn’t like that it would probably mean more of them scrambling to be up front and involved in this kind of thing, but hopefully he could deal with that when it came. And in the meantime, they would be better equipped to handle themselves if their activity on patrols somehow got linked back to the rest of them. Though that thought worried Jack enough that he resolved it wouldn’t come to that. Not if he could help it.

Even if it meant doing back to back patrols himself, Jack wasn’t going to let this fall on his boys’ heads. Spot had been worried about what they were going up against being too much for them to handle, and if it did turn out to be too much, Jack wasn’t going to let the rest of them pay for his poor leadership. He’d keep himself in the thick of it, just to keep more of them out of it.

Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, stopping to lean against a building. It wasn’t even Saturday yet, and he was already strung so tight about all this, but he couldn’t stop. They needed more leads, and they needed them quickly. The sooner they could get the information Katherine and the Jacobs needed to make their point, the sooner this would be out of their hands and hopefully off their heads. And since breaking into Weasel’s building again wasn’t an option, they’d have to stick to patrols and impromptu interrogations.

Jack shook himself. He needed to get back to work. Just a few more blocks, and then he’d text the others and they could call it a night. He just hoped they could keep themselves together until they had what they needed; this wouldn’t be forever, and then things would be better. At least, that was the hope he had to cling to.

He pushed himself off the wall and headed back down the street.

They would be done with this eventually, but he wasn’t going to stop until they were. Jack wasn’t going to let his boys down.

****

Race woke up to a text from Jack confirming everyone had gotten home safe after patrol, two missed alarms, and feeling sorer than he’d ever felt in his life.

Specs took one look at him as he limped into the kitchen—and why the hell did walking hurt, anyway? —and said, “I told you so.” Race would have flipped him off, but he also held out a cup of coffee, so he couldn’t be too mad.

That and he couldn’t lift his arms.


End file.
